Etoile Rouge
by verisimilitude9
Summary: Jake Burnley has little use for wealthy socialites. Raye Harcourt has little use for men in general. But when they meet one night at a club, both are in for a surprise. Set in Magnolias/LOA/etc.-verse, this is R/J's story. AU.
1. Prologue

A/N: The third story in the Magnolias In Bloom/Laws Of Attraction ficverse, featuring R/J! I actually started writing this an age ago, got distracted by other shiny things, and am now finally posting. So please bear with me! This story will refer to the characters and events in Magnolias In Bloom and Laws Of Attraction, but like the other two, can stand alone. This chapter is a prologue, and anyway, thanks for your patience and hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

The hallways were cinderblock and the throng of students milling about, stopping at their military-green lockers or rushing off towards their classrooms, seemed like a mass of chaos. To Raye Harcourt's eye, everything seemed loud, mismatched and almost garish in comparison to the homogeneous atmosphere of exclusive wealth characteristic of the all-girls' Notre Dame School.

Rachael Victoria Warrington-Harcourt, who preferred to go by Raye because it was so much more interesting and less pretentious-sounding, was fifteen years old and embarking on a new school year and a new life. It had been four months ago that her mother had finally succumbed after a three-year struggle with acute leukemia. The last six months of the battle had been in a hospice, and every weekend, it was Raye and her grandfather, not her father, who would visit the dying Victoria Harcourt. Senator B. Louis Harcourt III was busy with the details of his re-election campaign the coming fall. While the loss of his ladylike, gracious wife of seventeen years was certainly regrettable, it was the only sensible thing to do to resign himself to the inevitable and focus on the important matters of the future.

It fell to his daughter and his father-in-law to hold the dying woman's hands, one on each side, as she slowly faded away. When Victoria Harcourt breathed her last and closed her eyes for eternity, her husband was away on the golf course with several of Manhattan's wealthiest and most influential men cajoling for campaign funding. When the finality of it all hit Raye like a fist squeezing around her heart, and the first tears started to fall, it was in the arms of her grandfather that she grieved. By the time the tears had finally stopped, several hours had passed. Her father, whose octopus-like network of staff and assistants eventually relayed the message from the hospital staff, arrived only to look appropriately brave and mournful for the press. Senator Harcourt had directed his secretary to lend Raye some powder for her face so that her nose wouldn't be red when she appeared in front of the reporters camped outside. Pale and blank-faced, Raye had watched her father field questions and give the press his perfectly rehearsed, unctuously appropriate statement about his wife's death. When the questioning segued from personal to political, she'd retreated out of view and stumbled back down the hospital halls until she'd reached the comforting, solid figure of her grandfather. Eyes the colour of April violets, rimmed red and smudged underneath with dark shadows, met forthright brown ones reflecting the same heartbreak. No words had been necessary.

Raye only waited until her mother's burial to apprise her father of her decision. B. Louis Harcourt III made a token protest to the idea of her transplanting herself from the respectable environs of Greenwich Village and the privileged upbringing that befit her station to her grandfather's relatively modest Brooklyn row house and a public high school, but acquiesced easily enough. It was more than likely that he saw the benefits of enrolling his daughter in a school with the common people and establishing through such a rapport with the multitudinous middle class of New York and their electoral clout.

And so it was that over the summer, Raye moved out of the house that she'd been born in, and now for the first time in her life attended a public school. With innate pride and steely determination, she scanned the map of Madison High School's hallways like a general might have studied battle plans. She had no intention of getting lost like a typical feckless new student and arriving late to classes, and by dint of luck and force of will, she made through the day without any dramatic occurrences.

At least until she got to the parking lot of the school to wait for her grandfather's sturdy, ancient Lincoln to pull up and take her home.

It was a day of many firsts, and not wearing a school uniform had been one of them. Raye wasn't particularly into ostentation, but nevertheless she stood out amidst the other high school students, inky hair spilling down her back, aristocratic and perfectly put together from her Miu Miu cashmere sweater to her black Gucci pumps. Every look and gesture bespoke generations of wealth and breeding, and certainly it caught the attention of more than a few of the boys.

"Hey, hottie. What's your name?" A skinny, carrot-topped boy with a crooked incisor smirked at her as she waited sedately on the stone bench by the school entrance. "You're new here, aren't you?"

"Perhaps I am," Raye answered coolly. "And my name is Raye. You would be...?"

"Kyle Reed," he introduced himself in a rather smarmy voice. "I know I haven't seen you before. I'm pretty good at remembering the faces of good-looking girls." He was certainly not looking at her face when he said that, however, and Raye's eyes frosted over.

"I don't doubt that you do, but you needn't remember mine," she said in her haughtiest voice. "I'll make sure that you won't have anything more to do with it than see it passing by, hopefully not often, in the hallways."

"God, who shoved a stick up your ass? Oh wait... I think I know who you are. You're that prissy senator's daughter, aren't you? My friend said something about you deciding to slum it here. Whatever... it'd probably be like screwing a deep freeze anyway."

"Why don't you leave her alone?" A calm voice interjected just then, and a newcomer, eyes the colour of gunmetal staring through a fringe of pale blond hair, walked up to Raye's bench from the door just then. This boy was lean and unsmiling, sans Kyle Reed's oily expression. "A girl doesn't have to be 'slumming it' to not want anything to do with you, Reed."

"Fuck off, Ellis," Kyle Reed scowled. "Why don't you mind your own goddamn business?"

"I could ask the same of you," The one referred to as 'Ellis' raised an eyebrow. "Take the rejection of your rather uncreative come-on without resorting to a temper tantrum and run along."

"I _said, FUCK OFF_!" Kyle, freckly cheeks red with anger, made a rush at the other boy, fists clenched, and Raye sprang up, eyes firing with temper and intent on delivering a lethal kick to the boy's groin with the business end of a designer stiletto heel. She never had a chance, though, because Ellis simply stepped partially into the path of the punch and with an economical movement of his hands, twisted the other's arm and threw her accoster to the ground in an inglorious heap.

"Now will you leave her alone?" Ellis asked, barely winded as he stared down at the prone form of Kyle Reed. "She's bound not to have anything to do with you now, anyway."

Kyle Reed stumbled to his feet and slunk off, throwing a baleful glance over his shoulder but not willing to say anything that might result in even more humiliation. Raye took a deep breath and awarded her rescuer with a faint smile.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. I'm Kevin, by the way. Kevin Ellis. What's your name?"

"Raye. Raye Harcourt. It's nice to meet you." His handshake was firm, without the faux-enthusiastic pumping favoured by those in politics, and her smile grew minutely. "I guess people can tell I'm new here. I'm not trying to stand out or anything."

His face didn't seem like one that smiled often, but for a split second, his lips curved upward. "I wouldn't worry about it. Just do whatever you feel is best."

It echoed what she had decided would be the guiding principle of her new life, and he said it so matter-of-factly, without any of the expected fawning sympathy or pompousness. And on this day of new beginnings, even as she saw her grandfather's car pulling up to the stop light in front of the school in preparation to turn into the parking lot, Raye experienced another first.

Without lengthy consideration and further information and references, she decided to trust Kevin Ellis and consider him a friend. It was the first time she'd found someone to believe in who wasn't a relative.

It was an auspicious start to a new life of self-determination and personal freedom. It was also one of the best decisions she would ever make.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Chapter One, set two years after the prologue. Refers to the events in Magnolias In Bloom, but fairly easy to figure out. Three guesses who the antique dealers are supposed to represent :P Anyway, to the one or two people reading this fic, hope you're enjoying thus far. Jake will make an appearance in the next chapter.

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

"So, her birthday's the twenty-second of October?"

"Yeah, she's going to be seventeen."

It was two years ago that Raye moved from Greenwich to Brooklyn and embarked on the start of a new life, two years ago that Kevin Ellis had dealt with an ill-mannered classmate at the entrance of Madison High School on her behalf before even introducing himself. Now, it was the start of her senior year, and Kevin was her best friend.

Tragically and ironically, Kevin had lost his own mother to a car accident several months back, and Raye had been the only one who had known what to say and what not to say to him after the fact. Fate had then decreed for Kevin to spend the summer vacation in his mother's hometown to help an ailing relative, and along with the change of scene and climate had been a girl by the name of Mina Atherton.

The sullen, stubbornly stoic Kevin who had waved a terse farewell to her at LaGuardia came back tanned from a summer in the southern sun, and on the first day of school, when he'd walked into the first class that they shared, he had even smiled. The grief was still there shadowing his eyes, but it was lessened, lightened, and Raye, who could read the most minute changes in Kevin's expressions after two years of close friendship, knew before he even said a word that he had found love and with it, peace. Raye had learned about Mina Atherton in the course of a few days, and while she would wait until a day when she'd be able to meet Mina to make any sort of final judgment, that Mina could bring her friend genuine happiness was enough for now.

When Kevin had told her that Mina's birthday was coming up, she had not even waited for him to ask before clearing out a few hours of her weekend so that she could help him find a proper present for the occasion. And so it was, three weeks into the school year, on a windy New York Saturday morning, the two of them walked down the crowded sidewalk together, scanning shop windows. Kevin by nature wasn't particularly forthcoming with details on any topic, but it had not taken long for her to figure out just how serious her friend was about this girl.

"Stop pulling me along like I'm a kid," Kevin griped, but not with any true rancor. "You've got this glint in your eyes, it's kind of scary. I'm just out to buy a birthday present, not a new car or something."

"A car just gets you from one place to another and besides, with all the forms of public transportation available for very reasonable prices here in the city, it's far less important than what we are about to buy," Raye told him with the air of an impatient teacher instructing a slightly dim-witted pupil. "You love her, don't you? It has to be PERFECT."

She halted abruptly in front of a small antique shop, eyes speculative. There was an old-fashioned, arching sign with scrolled letters that read "Silver Memories", and the window display was nothing short of fabulous, even to her jaded New Yorker eyes. A mannequin in a period dress of lace-trimmed royal blue silk stood in front of the beveled mirror atop a graceful teak Queen Anne dresser as though preparing for a night out. An open lacquer jewelry box rested by the mannequin's hand, art deco pieces spilling out in sparkling splendor. In an old-fashioned rocker sat a pair of porcelain dolls in exquisite dresses, facing the mannequin like a pair of children watching their mother get ready for the evening. Behind them, all brightly painted peonies and meticulously carved rosewood frames, was a Chinese screen. Overhead, a chandelier spilled its light and rainbows down upon the tableau.

Raye came to a decision, and nodded to herself as she pulled Kevin towards the door. "You'll find something here, I have a feeling."

Bowing to expert opinion in such matters, Kevin acquiesced.

The interior of the shop was dim, charming and slightly jumbled, and featured everything from a lovingly varnished nine-foot concert grand piano with yellowed keys to medieval daggers in jeweled sheaths to dreamy Dresden china figurines to old-fashioned rosaries made of silver and amber drops. Kevin muttered something, likely the fact that he knew nothing about antiques and had no idea if Mina would like any of the offerings in the store, and then both of them saw it.

How such a small object managed to draw both their attention in a store full of knickknacks was anyone's guess, but when Raye's eyes fell on a dainty golden locket on a delicate chain lying against a backdrop of black velvet, she saw Kevin looking over at it as well.

"Good morning." A low, harmonious female voice tinged with a faint British accent interrupted them just at that moment, as a dark-haired woman with a strangely ageless face emerged from the back with silent steps. She surveyed Raye and Kevin with slightly tilted dark eyes and pushed the mane of black, curling hair behind her as she stepped forward with a smile. "Welcome to Silver Memories. I'm Lorna MacFelis. What can I do for you?"

"Er, nice to meet you," Kevin murmured, clearly wondering if proper etiquette around European shop owners involved shaking their hands. "I... how much is that locket?"

Lorna's eyes flitted from his face to Raye's, and a smile curved across her lips. "It's not for you, that locket, am I right?"

"Yeah, you're right," Raye answered, raising an eyebrow. "Not really my thing. I'm just here helping him find a birthday present for someone."

"Ah, of course." Lorna unhooked a ring of keys as a Victorian-era housekeeper might have carried from her belt, and unlocked the glass case in which the gold locket rested. Her eyes warmed as she held it out, the gold glistening like living light in the little shop. "There's a story behind this locket, as there is behind everything here. 'Tis only right, you know, to keep and cherish all the memories of the days of the past, and let them live on with what has survived. My husband tells it quite a bit better than I, though. Arthur!"

The name was spoken almost sharply, a sudden change to the quiet tone of before, and a man with silvery hair falling into his face bounded out, as energetic as his wife was tranquil. His sharp, catlike green eyes sized up Raye and Kevin, and his mouth curved up in a wide grin uncharacteristic of suspicious New York shopkeepers. "Welcome, both of you! So nice to have young folk in here for a change. It gets tiring to see the same bunch of fusty old bankers and matrons looking for vases and candlesticks without a lick of concern aside from it having the right number of years and the correct label."

"Arthur," Lorna chided her husband with a prim little frown, "It's not nice to put down any of your customers."

"You cannot tell me that you didn't find that Judge Winston Newport Jr. to be an awful bore, my dear," Arthur protested, and Raye choked down a sudden laugh at the mention of the father of one of her less-liked acquaintances in her prep school days. "He simply had no regard for history, for value, and bought that Wedgwood vase for no other reason than it matched the artwork in his drawing room! He even admitted to it himself. Now, my friend," He turned to Kevin, pinpointing him like Lorna had done earlier as the buyer. "Please don't tell me that you're one of those pretentious morons."

"ARTHUR! Do stop haranguing the lad," Lorna exclaimed, "They wished to learn about this locket."

"Ah, but of course." As though a switch had been turned, Arthur MacFelis switched gears from rant to reminiscence in the blink of an eye. "It was the locket of a Miss Mary-Beth Alden, of Antietam, Maryland. She lived in the nineteenth century, and at the time of the Civil War was a pretty young girl of seventeen. Her childhood sweetheart went off to fight for the Union, because he deemed it wrong to secede, and while she was forbidden from seeing him by her parents because of his Yankee beliefs, she met him the night before he left and gave him that locket as a token of her love. You can see the A engraved on its cover, for her surname." Indeed, there was a stylized A, entwined with delicate rosebuds, on the surface of the gold locket. "Well, her young man carried it into battle, and perished with it clasped in his hand. It was stolen, as such things are in wartime, by the desperadoes who plunder and profit off the dead. When his body was brought back to Mary-Beth Alden, her locket was gone, and the war comrades who survived and knew of his beloved and her gift to him made a promise in memory of his name to search for it. As reconstruction progressed and everyone scattered far and wide, there seemed little hope, but as luck would have it, one of them saw it in a shop in Boston, more than forty years later, and bought it and had it sent back to Miss Mary-Beth. She was an old lady then, a spinster who'd never wed out of memory for her dead love, and it gave her the peace she sought." Arthur sighed and smiled sentimentally. "'Tis a pity that the Alden estate doesn't care as much for old tales and memories, for they sold off all of Miss Mary-Beth's things without a whit of hesitation."

Raye's eyes narrowed slightly at the narrative, but there was no possible way that the two eccentric shopkeepers could have known that Mina Atherton was Kevin's modern-day southern belle. It was an interesting coincidence, though, and Kevin must have realised it too, because his expression changed from blank to curious.

"Who are you looking to give it to, my lad?" Lorna asked him politely, breaking through the silence that had fallen after her husband's narrative. "A gift such as this is like a promise, and shouldn't be treated lightly."

"Oh, my girlfriend," Kevin replied softly, glancing down at the locket before meeting Lorna's eyes. "It's her birthday coming up. I wanted to give her something that isn't just some mass-manufactured trinket or another."

"Well, if special's what you're looking for, that's what you get. Eighteen-carat gold locket and chain, pink gold rosebuds with genuine emeralds on the leaves, and here's the certificate of authenticity." Lorna unlocked a drawer with another key, and gauging Raye to be the party more knowledgeable in such matters, produced a written appraisal from a reputable establishment, which also included a price which made her eyes widen.

"It costs THAT much? Kevin, you can't afford that much, not unless you want to take to selling drugs and maybe your kidneys!" She could have loaned him the money, but Kevin would never have agreed to it, and that option wasn't even discussed.

"Hmm, perhaps we can make some arrangements," Arthur said in a kindly manner. "You're not like some of the people who come through here, just looking for something pretty. You care more. Your girlfriend is well-loved."

Kevin swallowed, and met the man's eyes squarely. "Yes."

"I can let you have it for a third of the price today, and you can pay another third in installments through the course of the next year. For the final third, you can come help me of the weekends." Arthur's grin flashed across his face again. "I'm not as young and spry as I once was, more's the pity. We could use a strong back here once in a while. Bring your friend, too. For the company. She's a sharp girl, who'll find someone worthy of her love by and by."

It was the strangest antiquing experience that she'd ever had, Raye reflected as Kevin paid the shopkeepers and bid them farewell. But somehow the eccentric couple, with all their amiable bickering and different mannerisms and their simple belief in love and memories, remained on her mind all the way back home. She glanced at Kevin as he held the innocuous white bag in his hands as the subway slowed down at a station.

"They didn't feel like scam artists," she murmured.

"No, not really," he replied, giving her a sidelong glance. "I actually believe them. Not sure why."

The history of the locket was plausible, but she wasn't sure about Arthur MacFelis' prediction that she, too, would find love in the near future. It was a nice thought, though. Perhaps antique dealers, surrounded by all the relics of the past, all the fragments of memory, were a sentimental lot. She put it out of her mind and gave Kevin a smile. "I think your Mina will love it. And on a no-bullshit level, the price they gave you is actually quite reasonable. They could've sold it to a museum and made a killing off it. They wouldn't have done such a thing, though." That would have been the greedy and practical thing to do.

Kevin nodded his agreement and the subway doors opened at their stop, and he let her out before stepping off himself.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: In which Raye and Jake meet. Scene somewhat inspired by the song "Paralyzer" by Finger Eleven. I'm not a huge songfic type, but it seemed to fit these two. Thanks to those who have been reading and reviewing, I'm glad you like thus far.

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

* * *

><p>"And he didn't even apologize! I mean, HE was the one who cheated on ME, and he didn't even apologize!" The voice over the phone was high-pitched, words punctuated by sniffles, and Raye Harcourt rolled her eyes as she turned the volume down on her cell phone. This was a conversation which happened monthly.<p>

"Heather, Winston Newport the Third is scum, and you are better off without him, or for that matter any guy who's named after two brands of cigarettes AND has Roman numerals after his name," she said in a voice that was neutral and evenly modulated, boredom undetectable in the satiny tones. The cell phone was on her desk, on speaker, and she continued typing her report for AP English without cessation.

The girl named Heather sniffled and blew her nose, and Raye rolled her eyes again. It was beyond rude to blow one's nose into the phone, not to mention gross, but Heather Bennington was a little bit of a poser and still had to learn such niceties, particularly if she wanted to struggle into the popular set.

That was an uncharitable thought, and she silently chided herself. She was no longer the pampered, glamourous Manhattan teen socialite she had been two years ago. But old habits died hard, and it was people like Heather, who still attended private school in Greenwich, that brought back the old life and old ways.

"You know what we should do, Raye?" Heather's voice was still at a rather shrill pitch, but at least she was no longer sniffling. "We should go out tonight, like the old days. Pull all the stops, break some hearts, collect a dozen phone numbers, see how many conquests we can make in the course of an evening. What do you say?"

Raye shrugged, but Heather couldn't see. "I don't know. I've two more pages to write on Voltaire."

"Whatever," Raye could almost hear Heather's dismissive hand-wave in her tone. "You've the whole weekend. It's a Friday night. Please? I need to forget about Winston, and besides, I have a killer Balenciaga to break in. Pretty please?"

The whine was grating on her nerves. Raye aimed a death glare at the phone on her desk. "Fine."

"THANK YOU THANK YOU! MUAH!" Heather, in a dramatic 360 degree change of mood, now effused with giddy joy. "Could you make the arrangements if I buy the drinks? You always know the BEST places!"

Raye refrained from reminding Heather that both of them were underage and therefore the drinks wouldn't have run them all that much to begin with. Then again, it was probably Heather's intention. Whatever. She made a noise of assent, hung up the phone, and finished another page of Voltaire before dialing another number.

It took less than thirty minutes to make arrangements via her father's secretary. The Harcourt name opened lots of doors, even on very short notice, and money would never be a factor. The club called Etoile Rouge in Manhattan was newly opened, hip, ostentatious and very exclusive. It was almost impossible to get a pass for Friday night without a month's advance notice for the average person, even the average Manhattan socialite, but Raye wasn't one for being ordinary in any aspect of her life. At nine o'clock, the black stretch limo would pick her up before driving to Heather's house, and they would arrive at the doors of the club at ten-fifteen, just as the line would have started wrapping around the block, full of hopefuls trying to make their way past the trio of black-clad, seven-feet bouncers. Heather and her would be in their VIP booth by half-past ten, and by eleven at the latest, Heather would be working towards her evening's goal of breaking hearts and taking names. She, Raye, would have done her duty as a friend, and that would be that.

She phoned her best friend even as she went back to her report.

* * *

><p>"You'll NEVER guess what I have," Bruce Roberts held up a pair of glossy black postcards embossed with red stars so smooth and shiny they looked like vinyl. His friend Jake Burnley glanced up from the copy of Sports Illustrated he was perusing with a bored look.<p>

"What are those?"

"VIP Passes, my friend! To Etoile Rouge, THE trendiest club in midtown Manhattan, baby!"

"A new place usurps that title every other month," Jake shrugged. "And if you need a small lesson in geography to remind you, we're in the Bronx, which is like a bazillion subway stops away from your little bar. How did you get those passes anyway?"

"Oh, they're from Mark. Remember how he nearly lost his senior thesis the night before it was due and I performed a minor miracle on his computer and recovered the file last Monday? His sister Desiree bartends there. You know... the hot redhead with the dragon tattoo and the big..." Bruce made a very expressive gesture with his hands. "He says it's like impossible to get in. So he threw in the passes along with the Benjamin Franklin, since I'm, you know, the shit, and saved his fucking life. So TONIGHT! It's you and me, baby!"

"Do I have to?"

"Come on, man! This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience for regular people like us! We can play at being the rich and famous for a night. There's bound to be some hot babes. And come on, I just got paid by Mark in aforementioned miracle-casting and life-saving. I'll buy."

"Fine, whatever," Jake shrugged. It wasn't like he was doing too much else that night.

* * *

><p>"Your friend Kevin isn't coming tonight?" Heather pouted into the compact she was holding and touched up her lipgloss. "That's a pity. He is SO cute, in that unapproachable rugged white knight way."<p>

"You just broke up with your boyfriend," Raye pointed out as she stretched out her long legs in the leather seat of the limo. "You're not supposed to be checking out Kevin. And are we talking about MY Kevin? White knight? Puh-lease. Too grumpy and not nearly hot-headed enough."

"Still, he's cute! Why is it that you never invite me along when you hang out with him?"

Raye didn't say anything about wanting to protect one of the only guys in her life whom she knew she could depend on from a Balenciaga-clad female piranha, and settled for a shrug. "He's a busy guy. And besides, he has a girlfriend."

"Oh?" Heather leaned forward, interested. "What's her name? What's she like? We should all go and get manicures at Belladonna's together. Is she pretty?"

"I don't bug into Kevin's personal business. But she makes him happy and she seems good for him, so that's pretty much all that matters." Raye had opted for subtle, since it was Heather whose goal it was to break hearts tonight, and smoothed down the skirt of her little black dress. The only hint of colour and adornment on the garment was a satiny red ribbon threaded under the bodice like a girdle, picking up the tint of her lipstick. The black stiletto heels on her feet might have been Manolo Blahniks, but they were similarly plain in design. Even so, and a little part of her was aware and took a small, shameful pleasure in it, she was much better-looking than the brightly clad, heavily made-up Heather.

The limo pulled to a stop right at the entrance of Club Etoile Rouge, and the two girls stepped out to the slack-jawed admiration of more than a few of the guys in line. Heather strutted up to the bouncer and all but thrust her VIP pass in his face, but Raye simply handed over her own with a sigh. When would that girl realize that there was only a fine line between tasteful satisfaction at one's station in life and gauche, classless flaunting? They were ushered in to a VIP booth decorated in silver and black, studded with red stars, up a spiralling red staircase from the main floor where multitudes of young and beautiful people were already dancing.

Raye ordered a nonalcoholic version of the house special drink, a twist on the classic Mimosa with blood orange juice mixed in Sprite to make the club's signature fiery red. Heather was already up and about, more than ready to wash away all memories of Winston Newport III, but she just wanted to relax for a bit before facing the masses, air-kissing countless cheeks, asking the usual polite and meaningless questions about summers in the Monterrey or Bar Harbour or Europe, gossiping about the fight that broke out just last week in this very spot when Paris Hilton and entourage were in here. Bored, she scanned the upper level, passing over several professional athletes, a handful of Wall Street heirs and heiresses, half of the cast of a popular soap opera, and a few supermodels, their elongated, bony limbs sharp and too thin in the harsh light. Jaded, she looked for someone new and interesting, and her eyes landed on a pair of young men looking completely out of place at a table across the room.

* * *

><p>"This club has got to be the most pretentious thing ever," Jake shook his head as he looked around the room. Bruce was practically pissing himself in excitement at the sightings of numerous rich-and-famous types in the VIP level, but Jake's cynical mind noted the overpriced drinks, the fake, forced smiles on more than a few people, the glassy eyes of a supermodel he was sure was stoned to the gills. So this was the playground of the moneyed and sophisticated.<p>

He'll pass...

His thought process shut off with a nearly audible snap as, on an idle scan of the room, his eyes met the fathomless, violet ones of a lone girl seated at one of the tables toying with a red-tinged drink in a champagne glass. For the longest moment, time seemed to stand still, and everything and everyone else in the background seemed to fade away, blur like a smeared watercolour, and he could swear that he was paralyzed. Their eyes locked, held, held... and then, instead of breaking the gaze or blushing or giving him a flirtatious smile or any other obvious, standard reactions, she quirked a perfectly arched dark eyebrow as though in challenge.

Aside from that, she didn't move. For a second, he almost thought that she was a work of art, so still and unearthly beautiful that she couldn't be human. And then she lifted her glass to her crimson lips and took a sip, and he stood from his seat.

* * *

><p>The last time she'd seen a blue that intense, that fiery, it was in the flames of the gas range stove at her grandfather's house. The blue-eyed blond was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a nondescript black t-shirt and jeans that, to her discerning eye, were definitely less than a hundred dollars. He looked out of place in here, his hands too big and capable-looking, his golden hair an unstyled, tousled mop. And when their eyes met, she felt pinned to her spot, almost hypnotized, as though his eyes were really the blue of the hottest flames.<p>

Well. There's no point in letting anyone stare her down. She finished her drink, set down the empty glass, and got to her feet. Striding forward on her Manolos, she took the first of the steps that would lead to him.

* * *

><p>"What's your name?" The girl wasn't shy, that was for sure, but there was more curiosity than flirtation in her gaze. She wore a deceptively simple black dress that clung filmily to every perfect curve, and high heeled shoes that showed off slim, toned legs. She didn't try to pitch her voice above the music and shout in his face, but leaned close enough that he'd be able to hear her even if she whispered. He caught a subtle whiff of perfume that smelled hot and not quite tame.<p>

"Jake," he answered, holding out a hand for her to shake.

She smiled then, a secretive smile, as she placed her slim hand in his big one. He couldn't have guessed that her thoughts were full of pleasant surprise that it was Jake, not Jacob Ainsworth Fettersley or something similarly pretentious. Instead, it was simple and strong and solid, much like the hand he held out. "Raye. Nice to meet you. I'd ask if you came here often, but it's clear that you don't."

He felt affronted by that, even though just a moment ago, he was reflecting that he wouldn't care if the club closed in three weeks. "What makes you say that?"

"Don't get mad," she said evenly. "I don't mean it in a bad way. But you're not the type to look for ostentatious thrills or get excited over running into the rich and famous. And the drinks here cost too much. It's all over your face."

Well, all right. That wasn't too bad. It was an honest assessment, and there was no snobbery in her tone or her face. "Do YOU come here often, then?"

"Not at all," she laughed as though that was the funniest thing in the world. "I'm just doing a big, fat favour for a sort-of-friend who had a boy crisis, again, and needed to surround herself with glitzy people and guys rich enough to buy her the aforementioned overpriced drinks so she'd feel better about herself."

"You're very cynical," he observed, and this was rapidly turning into the most bizarre conversation he'd ever had with a stranger at a bar or club. It was okay, though. It was more real, somehow.

"Probably," she agreed with a grin. "Well, since you're here, even though you don't want to be, want to dance?"

He would have said no, despite her striking beauty, despite the way the world tilted when their eyes met across the room. She was still a creature of a different world than his, and he felt sure that the slim diamond tennis bracelet on her arm cost more than the college tuition he'd be shelling out next term. But her grin bespoke a mischievous disregard for all the pretentiousness surrounding them, a determination to carve out something new and extraordinary and unexpected for herself, and he found himself reaching for her hand.


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Here's chapter next, which concludes the scene started in the last chapter. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

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><p>The music was good, at least, and the set-up and ambience of the main floor was both funky and flowing. Raye made a wry comment that the owner of the club had hired an extremely trendy and pricey <em>feng-shui<em>-trained architect to design the layout, and then, as they reached the dance floor, turned into his arms in a move so natural it surprised him.

He was afraid for the first few minutes that she'd step on his toes with her lethal-looking shoes, but she moved well, her skirt flaring out slightly on a spin, her hand cool and delicate in his. He spun her back into his arms, and she nodded at a shorter, curvier girl with hair so pale it looked like a snow-drift against her sunlamp tan and an extremely brief dress of peacock green. In the flashing lights of the club, her makeup almost looked like the painted cheeks and eyelids on a porcelain mask, and Jake raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah? What about her?"

"That's who I came with," Raye explained, sparing Heather a glance. The other girl seemed to be having a blast, Winston Newport III wholly forgotten if not forgiven, grinding against a lanky Grecian-nosed boy with a mop of pampered toffee curls whom Raye recognized as a male model. "The one who was having a crisis."

"Oh," Jake said neutrally. He wasn't impressed, but perhaps Raye was close to the other girl. "Did you want to go over and say hello or something?"

Before Raye could make a response, Heather spotted them, and waved frantically as she tugged model-boy along like a poodle on a leash. "HEEEEEEEEEEY!" she pitched her voice above the music, white teeth gleaming as she smiled. "Having fun, Raye? This is Olav, whose last name is really long and unpronounceable. I am SO excited, Raye! Did you know that Olav front-lined Jil Sander's spring ready-to-wear line during Fashion Week?"

"Pleasure," Raye said smoothly, "I'm Raye, and this is Jake."

"Ooooh, Jake! How nice to meet you," Heather's eyes fastened with interest in Jake's face, before skimming down to take in what he was wearing, and her smile faltered somewhat. "Where're you from?"

"New York City," Jake found himself saying dryly. "I met your friend in the VIP lounge."

"Oh!" Heather's plucked brows furrowed in confusion, the contrast between "VIP lounge" and battered jeans not computing. "Well, all right. Have fun, you two!"

Raye shook her head as Heather and model-boy sauntered off, and turned to Jake. "She's... a character. I used to go to school with her, back when I lived in Greenwich, too."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, that was two years ago," Raye murmured, and he involuntarily drew closer to hear her better. "I decided to move in with my grandpa two years ago. He lives in Brooklyn, so I don't go to the same school as her any more. Probably a good thing, in a lot of ways."

Jake didn't think it'd be tactful to do more than nod, and they continued to dance. She really hadn't said much about her life, and yet it seemed as though with every tidbit she did reveal, the more uncertain he was about who she actually was, what she was actually like.

"So, where are you from? Aside from New York City, obviously," Raye asked, her warm breath against his cheek.

"The Bronx, actually," he answered. "This is not my usual scene, at all."

"Oh?" Instead of wariness, her eyes showed interest. "It's a bit too loud here, but maybe sometime you'll have to tell me about it."

* * *

><p>That was about as unsubtle as she was willing to get with a guy whose full name she didn't even know. Raye didn't consider herself a particularly trusting individual, and really, it was both shocking and impressive that he hadn't taken the invitation to dance as a sign of flattering, fluttery interest yet. She wasn't sure what to make of him, and it had been quite obvious from the way his voice cooled and became brittle when he met Heather and her male model dance buddy that he didn't hold much respect for the pampered, privileged children of New York's elite.<p>

It made him more difficult to read, really, and for a moment, she was almost afraid that he was simply tolerating her, being polite because she'd asked him to dance.

But then he smiled, and she could tell that it was genuine from the way his blue eyes crinkled up at the corners and a single dimple appeared in one cheek. "I guess I could. Long story, though."

"We could go back up to the lounge where it's quieter," she said slowly.

"Sure."

* * *

><p>For some reason, he didn't let go of her hand as he followed her up the staircase again, and they found his friend Bruce surrounded by a quartette of supermodels, an expression of utter bliss on his face, and Jake shook his head before following Raye to her table.<p>

"What's your full name?" she asked when they sat down.

"Jake Burnley. Don't have a middle name. Yours?"

"Rachael Victoria Warrington-Harcourt, but please just call me Raye," she said with a grin. "I'm considering getting it legally changed to Raye when I turn eighteen. My dad would probably be pissed."

"It'd be your choice, regardless," Jake said, looking at her thoughtfully. "But I think you're onto something. Raye suits you better." It was direct, no-nonsense, unique and classy, a name that suggested strength and a flash of heat.

She laughed at that, and in a gesture that was so friendly that she surprised herself and charmed him, punched his arm lightly. "I like you, Jake, even if you come to pretentious clubs that sell over-priced drinks."

"Well, that makes two of us," he found himself laughing back. "And like you, I came under duress. With a friend. Who although wasn't having a crisis, still made me do it."

Her laughter was cut short when the purse which held her cell phone vibrated on the table.

* * *

><p>He watched as she opened it and drew out a sleek, wafer-thin silver-and-black phone. Abruptly, her face darkened, eyes narrowing into violet slits, and he raised his eyebrows. "Something the matter?"<p>

"Oh, yes," she hissed. "Model-boy had to go- big photoshoot in the morning or something, and Heather offered him a ride. In the limo that _I _got us. Which means that until she's done, I'm stranded. She says she'll be right back, but her idea of that... HELL."

But the single word was all the anger she'd show, and he watched as she draped icy control over herself like a cloak. "It's okay. I can find transportation home. Just watch me fix her, though."

Jake shook his head, losing any iota of respect he might have had for the girl she'd come with. Raye, a martial light in her eyes, picked up the phone and dialed numbers with quick and dexterous fingers. Putting the phone up to her ear, jaw still set, eyes still blazing, she coldly spoke a few directions into the mouthpiece before hanging up.

He missed her laugh, unfathomably, and felt an urge to lighten the atmosphere. "You look like you just ordered a hit on her."

She did laugh at that, for a brief moment, and he rejoiced even as she shook her head. "Nothing like that. I just called the limo company and switched up the payment plans. Now she's stuck with the bill, and we'll see how she likes THAT." She took a deep breath. "Sorry I've become so unsociable. I'll call for car service, and then start acting like a person again, if you'll just bear with me for another moment."

He had an impulse, but refrained from voicing it, but perhaps something of it showed on his face, because she paused, mid-dial. "Something the matter?"

"I was going to offer to see you home," he said vaguely and shrugged. "It's late, after all. But then... we came in the subway. I doubt that's your scene."

She remained quiet for a moment, eyes once again fixed on his, but it wasn't the electric initial locking of gazes of earlier. Now she was simply gauging his intentions, his sincerity, and he looked back at her steadily, with nothing to hide.

"Isn't Brooklyn like the opposite direction from where you live?"

"Well, yes." Perhaps her idea of calling for a car was better, though he found himself wanting to at least finish talking to her first. "I mean, the offer's because it's late, and not really safe out there, you know. Particularly for a lone girl travelling."

She smiled softly, an expression that she didn't seem quite accustomed to holding, and stood, picking up her purse. "I've never been on the subway for more than a few stops before."

"Are you sure you want to?" he asked, unable to hide his surprise and the hint of a smile.

"Hey, you were going to tell me about yourself and your home and such, yeah? You can do it on the subway ride."

If she had any misgivings over her impulsive decision, they vanished when he helped her unclasp the diamond bracelet she wore at the coat check desk and told her to secrete it in her purse along with her earrings, with a matter-of-fact reminder not to draw attention to herself. He lent her his own battered leather jacket, which smelled pleasantly of citrusy soap as opposed to pricey cologne, and matched his stride to hers as they exited the club.

* * *

><p>The subway was quiet, and their car only held a few silent, disaffected souls. Raye pulled her shoes off and put her feet up on the empty space of the seat next to her on the long seat they shared, and if she leaned against him slightly due to the momentum of the vehicle, he didn't seem to mind. His voice was quiet and soothing now, in the quiet starkness of the subway car, and in this light, he seemed less mysterious, more natural, and she didn't know why she liked both sides, both versions.<p>

She let her eyes drift closed as his voice lulled her, as he told her of growing up in a neighbourhood vastly different from her own, rougher and yet warmer somehow, of learning to speak Spanish like a native from the Puerto Rican immigrants living across the street when he player soccer together with their kids in a way that seemed so much less forced than the flawless French and Latin instruction at the private school she'd gone to. He spoke of his parents with affection tinged with complicated emotions- worry for a mother working as a vice cop in South Bronx, indulgent exasperation at a father whom he called the stereotypical electronics geek, who when not installing alarms and security devices for homes and businesses had a sometimes-aggravating habit of dismantling household appliances for the challenge of putting them back together. It was so different and so interesting that she barely noticed the time, the pauses of the subway car at different stations.

Much later, after he'd seen her to the quiet Brooklyn row-house where she lived these days, she sat in her room and carefully removed his jacket from her shoulders. There was a faint rustle of paper in a pocket, and she reached for it curiously. It turned out to be a crumpled envelope, bearing his name and address, and she smiled as inspiration struck.

* * *

><p>Two days later, a box of Godiva's finest was delivered to an apartment building in the Bronx, with a handwritten note.<p>

"This is in thanks for the company and the subway ride. I still have your jacket, so if you want it back, I'll return it in person." Jake dialed the phone number listed on the note and waited through two rings.

"Hello?" Her smooth voice sounded like a caress by his ear.

"Thanks for the chocolate, and I'd love to see you again so you can tell me about you this time," he said matter-of-factly. "You can keep the jacket, though. Looks better on you, anyway."


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Here's chapter 4, and thanks to those who have been reading and reviewing! Thus far we're pretty fluffy and cute, but rest assured that there will be conflict and drama later on :)

Disclaimer: As usual, if you recognize it, I don't own it.

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><p>It was just a walk through Central Park. To the average New York City native, this was an activity that was taken almost completely for granted. Raye herself had, on a few occasions, scoffed at the wide-eyed tourist types who exclaimed and pointed at every rock and tree in the park like they'd just landed from an alien planet. It seemed like a good place to meet, a basically neutral ground for a stroll and a conversation, and Jake had been perfectly pleasant and agreeable when he'd suggested it over the phone.<p>

She had no reason to feel anything akin to jitters over it.

But she made sure that none of it showed on her face when she saw him approaching her, his blond hair glinting in the afternoon sunshine as he strode towards the Alice in Wonderland sculpture where they'd agreed to meet. It was her intention that Jake would see an elegant, well-presented young woman who had the breeding and aplomb of her upbringing without the snobbery. Perhaps she succeeded, because he smiled when he saw her.

"You're prompt," he lifted a pair of mirrored sunglasses from his face and proffered a hand. It wasn't the generic 'you look nice' compliment that someone else might have tossed out, and she didn't mind.

"It's rude to keep people waiting," she replied, placing her hand in his bigger one. The smile she had for him was automatic; her eyes held just the tiniest hint of apprehension. "I try not to be rude without cause."

"It's a good philosophy to live on," he said agreeably, holding her hand rather than shaking it. "I'm going to get it out of the way right now so it's not awkward and on my mind later, but you look beautiful." He grinned, and she felt herself blushing despite her best efforts. "I thought it was best to get that out of my system right off the bat. Now that I have, I promise not to put you on the spot again this afternoon."

"Thanks, both for that and the compliment," Raye chuckled. She'd never been called beautiful quite that way before. "So, why did you want to meet here, exactly?"

"Central Park? It's a nice spot, peaceful. It's different from the rest of New York. It's a reminder of what's good about the city- what's really good, and not just the shopping and dining and business." He spread his hands, palms facing up. "New York isn't about all those man-made trends. We can have a crowd and it can still be peaceful. We might be the most disaffected lot in this country, but we can still smile when we see little kids playing four-square. We've skyscrapers and horse-drawn carriages. It's all a part of New York, you know?"

It was so interesting to see her own hometown through someone else's eyes, and Raye simply nodded. "And why Alice in Wonderland's sculpture?"

"It's about new worlds, exploring the unknown," he answered simply.

She knew something about that, and wondered if it showed on her face, but smiled up at him and spoke in a light tone of voice. "Is that what you and your friend were doing at Etoile Rouge the other night, then? Exploring the unknown? It's decent as far as over-priced trendy Manhattan nightclubs go, but you said it wasn't really your scene."

He laughed. "Bruce got VIP passes from someone he'd helped out, I had nothing to do that night, and the rest, as they say, is history." Without a thought, they had started walking, her hand still clasped in his, and she was hyper-aware of the calluses on his palms and the way he unconsciously shortened his stride to match hers. "I don't suppose it's my usual scene, no, but I'm not sure if it's yours either."

"Not really," she said candidly, her long hair blowing in the wind. Wisps of it caressed his cheek. "I'm not quite sure what my scene is, to be completely honest with you."

"Oh?"

They paused now at the edge of Central Park's sailboat pond, and she glanced down at her own wavering reflection in the water. Good bone structure, exotically lovely features, a delicate, soft mouth that somewhat belied the stubborn chin. Turning away, she faced Jake with a pensive smile. "It was probably easier to be the spoiled Manhattan debutante, the perfect senator's daughter. I'm sure it'd require less thought and probably less action to have followed through with that course."

"Ah, yes. Raye Harcourt, you introduced yourself as. That would be Senator B. Louis Harcourt, then? He's been in office for about ten years now, hasn't he?"

She nodded, and ran one hand through her hair. "My mom died, and I moved in with my grandfather. I just... I didn't want to live that life. All I knew was that I couldn't be like that." For a moment, all the doubt and grief and uncertainty of two years ago resurfaced, and she hoped that it didn't show in her eyes. "I guess I'm still figuring it out."

"You're doing fine, I think," he said quietly, and the solidity of his hand in hers and the calm strength in his lake-blue eyes reassured her more than any number of platitudinous remarks could have. She felt warmed by it, and struggled to find a way to express her thanks, and was interrupted by the clip-clop of hooves. He grinned again, once more now just a genial young man with sunlight glinting off his hair. "Want to go for a carriage ride?"

"Okay." She let him help her up into the carriage and took a seat. As the horses started to trot and the wind whistled through her hair, she met his eyes and no words were necessary.

* * *

><p>Once again, Raye found herself sitting at a tiny, round table for two opposite Jake close enough that their legs brushed against each other. In the background, the soft fragrance of candle-wax mixed with the heavier, earthier scent of roasting garlic and sun-dried tomatoes, and it was surprisingly pleasant. The restaurant was small and dimly lit, red-checked cloths covering the tables and heavy glass bottles of homemade vinaigrettes and sauces lined the shelves. In the corner, a portly man with a black walrus mustache and a surprisingly sweet voice sang <em>"Santa Lucia"<em> while accompanying himself on an accordion.

"So, you're going to Columbia next year? Impressive. What do you plan on majoring in?"

She blushed and hoped that he couldn't see in the candlelight. "You'll probably think that it's silly and impractical."

He smiled somewhat and, in a casual gesture that should probably have offended her, stole a grilled portabello mushroom off her plate with his fork. "Try me."

"Humanities. Art History and that sort of thing," she told him earnestly. "Art lasts, you see. Art, music, literature... Shakespeare wrote Romeo and Juliet centuries ago and everyone still knows the story. It doesn't matter if it's now, fifty years ago or fifty years hence, but people can still recognize the _Mona Lisa_. Pachelbel's Canon will probably continue to be played at weddings for another four hundred years. What makes something last, you know?" She absently stole a slice of fresh mozzarella off his plate of tomato caprese salad and nibbled on it. "You probably think it's a horrible waste of money to study something like that. What are you studying?"

"Psychology and criminal justice at City College," he answered, moving the bread basket out of the way as the waiter approached with their entrees. "I don't think it's a waste of money for you to learn about what interests you. Isn't that the point of college, anyway? That, and to meet some colourful people from all walks of life, and maybe attend a drunken frat party or two." The last was spoken with a grin.

"I'll bet," Raye laughed, before she noticed the amount of food on her plate. "Good Lord, I just ordered one plate of Penne all'arrabbiata. This is enough to feed a family!"

"I guess the sign on the door about 'home-style' Italian cooking was telling the truth," Jake chuckled. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think I'll be able to finish mine, either." His chicken parmigiana was served on a plate the size of the lunch trays at her high school. "Well, nothing to it. I'll doggie-bag the rest of it, take it home, and my roommate will weep tears of joy that he'll have actual food as opposed to ramen for a night."

"Your roommate lives on ramen?" The very idea was vaguely horrifying.

"Well, not exclusively," Jake ventured, then waited for her to sigh in relief before continuing. "He switches it up with Red Bull and potato chips and Mountain Dew, too."

"Oh my God."

He laughed then, at the expression on her face. But because she somehow knew that there was no malice in it, she found herself laughing with him.

They both ate about half their portions of food, boxed up the rest, and shared a slice of tiramisu for dessert. He let her have the last bite, and outside, visible in slivers of red and gold through the buildings, the sun was setting.

She didn't mean to linger over dessert, not really. It was a bit cliched to do so, and moreover, it was a school night. But it was easy to talk to him, laugh as he shared anecdotes of his roommate Bruce, who was majoring in computer science and had scored the fateful VIP passes to Etoile Rouge by salvaging another student's senior thesis off a virus-infested computer.

"I do believe that was the crowning night of Bruce's life," Jake said dryly as he finished the complimentary coffee given with the dessert. "He met a supermodel, he claims. He's probably right, since I DID notice, at one point in time, him talking to a girl who was about six feet tall and had really sharp elbows and a completely expressionless face."

"Vogue and its millions of readers would beg to differ with your assessment," Raye laughed as she picked up her own coffee cup and surveyed Jake over the rim of it. "You're not into supermodels, or pretentious Manhattan nightclubs, or spoiled, melodramatic teenage girls with boy crises- I noticed that you weren't overly impressed by Heather, the girl whom I was with at Etoile Rouge, and she IS rather trying- why in the world haven't you politely told me off yet?" In the background, the accordion player was singing "_Come Back To Sorrento_", its sad tune flowing through the air. Raye took a slow sip of the dark, strong coffee and set down her cup to face Jake fully. "It could be interpreted by many that... all those things... are right up my alley."

"Perhaps," he leaned forward, and even in the dim candlelight of the restaurant, his eyes were brightly, vividly blue. "But there's more to you. Anyone who thinks it's an easy task to figure you out is a fool. That much I can already tell. You may come from a certain sort of background, but that's only a piece of you. I have the feeling that the more I get to know you, the more you'll surprise me."

It wasn't exactly a typical compliment, but it touched her more than any number of generic praise for her beauty or grace or accomplishments might have. By the time they finally left the restaurant, after companionably splitting the tab, it was dark outside. It wasn't even a matter of thought to fall in step next to him, her takeout bag in one hand and the other clasped in his, as they made their way towards the closest subway station.

* * *

><p>He bought two tickets to Brooklyn before she realised his intentions, and then, when she asked him about it, explained as though it were the most obvious thing in the world that he was going to see her home safely. That he'd have to go in the opposite direction didn't even seem to factor in, and once again he made sure to stay with her until they'd reached the doorstep of her grandfather's house.<p>

"I had a really good time, so thanks for hanging out," Raye said quietly, trying for light and breezy only to sound pensive. It wasn't exactly a date, not really. Boys and girls hung out together all the time these days without any such ponderous titles attached. What, precisely, was the proper etiquette for maybe-maybe-not date farewells? A handshake seemed so cold, a hug uncharacteristically jovial. As for a kiss... that would be overly forward, wouldn't it?

It was possible that he saw the hesitation in her eyes, and so he reached out, his fingers warm and slightly rough against her cheek as he tucked a wayward lock of long black hair behind her ear. In the warm glow of the porch light, he smiled down at her and let his touch linger against her face for the space of several seconds, before stepping back.

"Good night, Raye. I hope I'll talk to you again, soon."

She nodded mutely and watched him walk away, blond hair glinting in the streetlights, until he rounded a corner and disappeared from view.


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Sort of a short chapter here, but oh well. Next one coming soon! And yes, meta references abound :P

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

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><p>Raye wasn't the type of girl to wait by the phone like a wish-washy, anxious little priss for a guy to call her after a date. Or a maybe-date. The jury was still out on that one, but Jake had been good company, and his straightforward manner intrigued her enough that the next day, after she got home from school, she called his phone.<p>

It rang four times before going to voicemail, and she listened to his brief, matter-of-fact message. "This is Jake. I'm in class or out or asleep. Call you back later when I get the message." It was terse enough to make her chuckle before the beep.

"Hello, Jake. This is Raye. I just called to say thanks for seeing me back home last night. And that I had a good time. I hope that you're doing well and maybe we'll see each other again sometime. Anyway, have a nice afternoon. You're not obligated to call me back if you're busy." Satisfied that she didn't sound like a teenage girl talking to her crush, she ended the call and turned her attention to her homework.

The paper for her history class required research, and she switched on her computer and fired up the internet. An email from Amy Anderson, a friend whom she'd made impulsively at an art gallery showing last year (and who coincidentally went to the same school as Kevin's girlfriend in Georgia), made her chuckle. The petite, soft-spoken girl made a few dire predictions regarding herself and her probable fate at the upcoming prom at her school, where she would be wearing heels to go with her dress. Included within the email was a photograph of Amy in said dress, and for all her worries about her footwear, she looked radiant, her skin pale as new milk against the sleek turquoise fabric, the empire-waisted sleeveless dress showing off Amy's smooth swimmer's shoulders and arms. Amy's boyfriend Zach, whom Raye knew to be a graduating senior, would likely swallow his tongue on the big day, and for the sake of her friend, Raye was glad.

She replied to the email with a few reassurances and anecdotes of her recent goings-on, surfed the internet for relevant research on her paper, and printed out a few articles. She made a decent outline of the topic and the position she would take, moved onto chemistry homework, and was mostly finished by the time her grandfather called up the stairs that dinner was ready.

It was Velveeta macaroni and cheese with instant mashed potatoes and a salad that was made of a bag of mixed greens with a few tomatoes sliced on top and some croutons thrown in for good measure. Raye's grandfather, a stocky man with a snowy mustache and a wide beaming grin that crinkled up his warm brown eyes, stirred chicken noodle soup that came from a family-sized can in a pot on the stove. "All right, little girl. Come on and set the table."

She wasn't so little any more, and for as long as she could remember, he never had been able to cook anything that didn't have clearly printed instructions and all available ingredients already with the package. Filled with love, she leaned over and kissed his wrinkled cheek as she fetched plates and silverware. "You gave Phoebe the night off, I take it?"

"That I did. Even that old battle axe deserves to take a Friday night once in a while." Dr. Christopher Edward Warrington, Professor Emeritus at Columbia's Law School and not-so-secretly a big softie outside the courtroom, smiled fondly at the thought. "Even if she doesn't spend it doing anything more exciting than putting her feet up and watching extremely cheesy old sitcoms." Phoebe Deimos was his housekeeper, a no-nonsense woman with beady dark eyes and a severe Professor McGonagall bun, who'd been a surrogate mother figure to Victoria Warrington and in Raye's eyes more of a ministering guardian angel than a servant. She came to the Brooklyn row house five days a week to cook meals, do laundry and cleaning, buy groceries and basic necessities, and order both Raye and her grandfather around from her impressive height of four feet eleven. The servants at the Greenwich village mansion that belonged to Raye's father were polished, deferential in an impersonal way, and almost as snobby as their employer. One of Raye's first memories of Phoebe Deimos, however, was a frank scolding after the housekeeper had discovered her stealing cookies at age four. Later that very night, when she had been unable to fall asleep in an unfamiliar room, it had also been Phoebe to come in with an old book of nursery rhymes and read her one about four-and-twenty blackbirds. Contented, happier in this house eating extremely processed macaroni and cheese than the delectable five-course dinners served every night at seven sharp at her father's house, Raye smiled and let her grandfather dominate the dinner-table conversation and wax eloquent about growing bonsai trees, his latest pet hobby.

It was about an hour later, after she'd washed the dishes as her grandfather had dried, that she went back up to her room. Her phone blinked with a missed call, and she couldn't help but smile rather like a little girl at the name displayed.

Sitting down at her desk, she hit the button to call Jake back and cradled the phone in one hand as she waited for him to pick up.

"Hello?" This time Jake picked up on the second ring, and Raye settled into her chair.

"We seem to be playing a bit of phone tag," she said lightly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks." His voice warmed. "I was in class earlier, so... the prof doesn't usually like it if phones ring in his class."

"I understand. I suppose I should explain also that when you called me back, I was eating dinner," Raye remarked, amused. "How was your day?"

"Decent, I guess. My roommate ate the leftovers from the Italian restaurant for breakfast," he chuckled. "I don't think he microwaved it either. But that's Bruce for you. Yours?"

Raye made a face at the idea of anyone eating cold Italian leftovers for breakfast. "All right. I woke up, went to school, got home, did some homework, emailed a friend, and so on and so forth. Then I ate dinner, and now I'm calling you. Though it does surprise me that you'd be in right now... it's a Friday night, and weren't you the one who said something about college students and partying?"

His laugh was low and vibrated against her ear. "I've a paper for Classics. Aeschylus' _Oresteia_ and the use of symbolism. It's kind of due next Monday, so no partying for me this weekend."

"Oh?" Her interest was piqued. Classics had been one of the classes that she'd enjoyed more than most during her days at the private school in Greenwich. "The _Oresteia _and symbolism, hmm? One of the primary examples is the repeated image of purple dye on the rugs that Clytemnestra has set out for Agamemnon to walk on. Purple dye is rare, because it comes from the crushed shells of various mollusks and is difficult to make. It was mostly royals and the very wealthy who had textiles dyed with purple, and Agamemnon would have believed that her laying out those purple rugs were a concession to honour his victory and his royal lineage. In reality, the purple is symbolic not only of Clytemnestra's intent to crush him like the creatures that secrete the dye... and of blood. Royal purple dye in rugs, royal blood stains. It's a way to foreshadow that Agamemnon is about to be murdered, betrayed by the royal welcome and led to the slaughter."

She blushed then, though he couldn't see it. She was fairly sure that whatever constituted proper behaviour by anyone's standards didn't include pedantically rambling about literary devices in old Greek plays. "I mean, I learned a bit about that stuff. I might be wrong."

"No, no... you're right." There was no derision in his voice, but a new note of respect. "That IS a pervading image in the first part of the _Oresteia_. You learned about this?"

"Classics is considered a necessary part of the education of a wealthy, sophisticated scion of the Harcourt family," she said dryly. "That is to say, they taught it in the prep school I went to. Pretentious or not, I actually liked the class. I guess you can take the girl out of Greenwich, but not the Greenwich out of the girl."

"You do know there's nothing wrong with liking Classics, hmm?" He murmured. "There's a reason such things survive, that we still read them to this day, you said so yourself. You're not losing any street cred with me for that, for the record."

She was embarrassed at being read so quickly and effectively, particularly through a medium such as the telephone. "Thanks, I guess. How long is your paper?"

"Four pages. I have sort of an outline done."

"Hmm, I guess you have your work cut out for you then. Do you want me to leave you alone so you can get to it?"

"No, I don't mind talking to you, and to be honest, I'm spending more time diddling around reading about random stuff on Wikipedia than doing my paper," he laughed for a moment before pausing as a thought occurred to him. "Hey, want to come over? The roommate is out, I won't bite, and I have a feeling I could use your expertise for this. And I'd really love the company."

"Sure." She agreed to it so readily that she surprised herself, then tried for a bit of coyness, or dignity. "I will have to let my grandfather know, and get a cab."

"No problem. And... you can tell him, your grandfather that is, that I'll make sure you get back at whatever time you need to get back. I'm not planning on locking you up in my apartment just because I happen to have a paper due."

That made her laugh, and she spun in her swivel chair. "All right. I'll let him know. I'll give you a call when I'm close to your address."

"I look forward to seeing you again." This last bit was spoken seriously and sincerely, and she smiled before clicking the phone off. She chalked the fact that she took the time to put on mascara and refresh her lipstick to latent vanity, then went downstairs to make the arrangements.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: And as promised, the next chapter is up! Including a heinously ugly couch, AND the first kiss! Hope you guys like it!

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

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><p>It really wasn't as though he figured her visit to be something very serious. He did have a paper due, and he didn't even know Raye that well. It was simple courtesy to toss the three pairs of shoes kicked off at various places in the living room into the closet, and take out the overflowing kitchen trash. It wasn't like he had time to completely refurbish the apartment, or really, like he was the type to project a particular image to impress a girl.<p>

Still, it felt like the right thing to do to make the apartment semi-neat, particularly if she was going to help him on his paper. A girl like Raye Harcourt was used to plush surroundings, and though she certainly wasn't as pretentious as she could have been, would likely have at least raised an eyebrow at the sight of the flotsam of Twinkie wrappers and potato chip crumbs - the remnants of his roommate's lunch- scattered about the coffee table.

* * *

><p>After ascertaining that the apartment was, if not spotless, at least acceptable, he thought that he might as well take a quick shower and change into a shirt more presentable than the old soccer jersey he slept in. It was only after he was clean, toweled off his hair and stowed away the stray, slightly waterlogged issues of Maxim into the bathroom cabinet that he was aware of several alarming sounds coming from outside.<p>

Firstly, the crashes and garbled shouts from the living room was an unmistakable indication that Bruce was home, and a video game marathon was in full swing. Jake strode out of the bathroom in a little bit of consternation, and his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him. The recently-tidied space now featured his roommate, clad in pajama pants and nothing else, playing a furious game of Mortal Kombat amidst technicolor bottles of Mountain Dew Game Fuel. Next to Bruce was a disordered pile of laundry, unfolded and clearly recently brought in from the machines in the basement, t-shirts with smart-ass phrases and boxers in every shade of the rainbow predominating. And before Jake could so much as berate Bruce for trashing the living room again, the buzzer for the door sounds.

"Dude, who's visiting us this late? It better not be Mark and his fucking computer with its pathetic dinosaur-era so-called firewall and his ridiculous long-winded papers." Bruce sent his on-screen opponent reeling back from a roundhouse kick and paused the game to pick up a half-full bottle of blue Mountain Dew, then noticed Jake's expression. "What? What's the matter?"

With the sigh of someone succumbing to the inevitable, Jake hit the intercom button and deigned only the briefest of glances at his roommate. "You'll see what's the matter in... about two minutes."

There was the muffled, staccato click of heeled shoes on the uncarpeted stairs of the building, then a soft, polite knock on the door. Jake sighed again, then got up and walked over to open the door. Raye stood on the other side, slim and elegant and lovely in the same scarlet trench coat she'd worn the other day, her hair long and unbound almost to her waist. The smile she offered him was faint, but it reached her eyes. "Hello. Are you going to let me in?"

Jake scratched the back of his neck and stepped back, almost hearing Bruce's jaw drop to the floor when the latter got a good look at her. "Right. Raye, this is Bruce Roberts, a computer science major and a slob par excellence. Bruce, you jackass, thanks for trashing the place after I just cleaned it... this is Raye Harcourt."

"Aww shit, I didn't know you had a babe coming over!" Bruce interjected, before clearing his throat and giving Raye a self-deprecating smile. "Er, pardon the French. Jake doesn't usually have girls up here. Then again most of the girls majoring in psych in this fine institution of higher learning are who- easy. And, uh, yeah, I didn't know you were coming over. Want me to go?"

"It's not like that, exactly," Raye, if she had any opinions about the laundry on the couch or the brightly coloured bottles of Mountain Dew, tactfully didn't say anything and simply held out a hand. "It's nice to meet you, Bruce. So you're the one who scored the VIP passes to Etoile Rouge, hmm?"

"Yep, that would be me," Bruce stared at her, then bounced up like a bespectacled Jack-In-The-Box. "OH! You're the girl who sat two tables away with the bleach-blonde! You danced with Jake, and he got home kind of late and he said that he wanted to make sure you got home all right! I didn't know you guys kept in touch!"

Raye's laugh was low and satiny. "Guilty. Your roommate has a paper he's working on tonight, and we were talking about it, and he invited me over so we could talk some more, I guess."

"Oh, that's nice of you," Bruce effused. "Really nice to help him and stuff. And unlike the loser I was dealing with before he met you at the club, Jake has Antivirus, Antispyware, AND a functional firewall on his computer."

"That's good to know," Raye laughed, before shooting Jake a sidelong glance. "You look a bit baffled."

He was, and though he wouldn't have admitted it aloud, it truly was due to the fact that the former Manhattan socialite, red star-shaped earrings that he'd bet were real rubies glinting on her earlobes, stood there talking to his geeky, potty-mouthed roommate as though they were old friends and Bruce was even close to being a part of the world she grew up in. There wasn't even a hint of derision in her voice. She kept on surprising him, and it wasn't often that anyone could do that.

"I guess we should get to that paper. Umm, do you want anything to eat? Drink?"

"This blue Mountain Dew's the shi- bomb," Bruce remarked before Raye could answer, and held out one of the twenty-ounce bottles genially as though it was a typical thing for a computer programmer to hand over his caffeine source.

Perhaps Raye sensed the enormity of it, because she smiled graciously and accepted the bottle. "Thanks. And I just had dinner, so I don't need anything to eat. All right, Jake. Where is this paper you're working on?"

"Umm. My room," he answered, gesturing her towards the narrow hallway that led towards the bedrooms. He pushed open the door to his, glad that it, at least, was reasonably neat. "Come on in."

Raye looked around, her eyes taking in the Magritte print on one wall, the utilitarian gray carpet, the blond pine wood desk with a laptop and printer and a scattering of books on top of it. There was a chest of drawers and a multi-level bookshelf, and a screamingly ugly couch with faded paisley-patterned upholstery in shades of maroon, turquoise and chartreuse. And then she turned slightly, and stared up at him with a look of genuine confusion.

"Hey, just out of curiosity, why do you have a couch in here and no bed?"

* * *

><p>Raye was learning to read him, and the way he scratched the back of his neck with one hand was a definite sign that he was either nervous or embarrassed. He chuckled lightly, and she opted for the latter.<p>

"Well, it's dead comfortable, and it did used to pull out when I first, uh, got it. The handle thing is broken though, so it doesn't pull out any more, but I still sleep on it."

This explanation had her blinking. "You... sleep on that couch? Don't you get a crick in your neck for that?"

"It's actually a really comfortable couch," he told her slowly. Some of her astonishment must have shown on her face, because he shrugged almost defensively. "And, yeah, the upholstery came that way. I can't see it with my eyes closed, though. So it's all right. Umm, would you like to take a seat somewhere?"

She nodded, and plopped down on the couch, her bottom sinking right into the cushions. It WAS comfortable, but that didn't negate the fact that the upholstery was the ugliest pattern that she had ever seen. She opened the bottle of blue Mountain Dew and took a dainty sip. It was slightly too sweet, but didn't taste as bad as she thought it might. "You had a paper, I believe?"

"Right, yeah, that I did," Jake mumbled, taking his laptop off the computer desk and bringing it with him towards the ugly couch. "I did get a bit more done on it."

She nodded, and skimmed over the words and the research. His writing style was slightly blunt and more to-the-point than most academic papers, but it was effective all the same. One sentence had her chuckling. "Nice of you to call Clytemnestra an 'accursed bitch'."

"It's phrased that way in this translation," he said, tongue-in-cheek. "I'm simply quoting the book."

"If you get a thrill out of that, you'll probably really get a thrill when your professor gets to Aristophanes' _Lysistrata_," she mused with a laugh. "It's still a mystery, to this day, what exactly the 'lion on the cheese grater' sex position mentioned therein entails."

"WHAT?" That had his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, and she laughed louder.

"Oh, it's this play about a woman who gets all the other women in Athens to withhold sex from their husbands so that their husbands would stop going to war constantly," Raye told him. "Part of the vow the women take involves swearing they will not assume the 'lion on the cheese grater' position. It's actually pretty good reading."

"Are you serious? A lion on a cheese grater? That... that actually sounds really painful. What the...?"

Somehow, once again despite her ingrained habit of mistrust and the fact that she was out in a strange neighbourhood, visiting the bachelor pad of a college student she'd known for less than a month, she found herself relaxing and enjoying herself. They went over his paper and the conversation segued somehow from Greek classics to movies to pop culture as she sat on that screamingly ugly couch and drank blue Mountain Dew. A random glance at her watch had her staring.

"It can't be midnight!"

"It's midnight?" He seemed as surprised as she was, but a glance at the clock at the corner of his computer screen confirmed it. "Holy hell. Umm, time flies when you're having fun I guess? I didn't mean to keep you here this long."

"My grandfather's probably a bit worried, I should call him and let him know I'm on my way back," Raye murmured, pulling out her cell phone. "You should probably get some rest, too. It's late. Time to turn back into a pumpkin and all that, for all of us."

He nodded and she dialed the house, telling her grandfather that she'd be home soon, before rising slowly from the couch. "I'm going to call for a car to come pick me up, so you don't have to waste a subway trip."

"All right," he agreed. "I'll still wait with you until it arrives."

They left his room together and found Bruce still in the living room, now with a massive bag of Cheetos open in his lap as he worked the video game controller. Raye cleared her throat and the boy looked up, his mouth stained blue and orange from Mountain Dew and Cheetos, and she had to laugh again.

"It was nice meeting you, and thanks for the soda," she told him.

"Oh, for sure," Bruce paused his game and grinned. "You should come by more often. Jake's a cool guy. He doesn't bullsh-crap around or do drugs or go to strip clubs or anything."

"Good to know," Raye chuckled. "I guess I'll see you later."

* * *

><p>She didn't have to glance back to know that Bruce was giving Jake the thumbs-up behind her back, and found it oddly sweet. Side by side, she and Jake descended the stairs of the apartment building together, and stood at the door as they waited for the cab to arrive.<p>

"I'm sorry I kept you here so late," Jake said quietly.

"Don't be sorry," she answered automatically, and that had him scratching the back of his neck again.

"I lied, I guess. I'm not really sorry. You were lots of fun, and I was happy to have you over. But I don't want you to get in trouble or anything on my account."

"I won't," she reassured him. "My grandfather didn't really sound mad when I called him. And I had already told him where I would be." Violet eyes met blue ones with an uncharacteristic hint of diffidence. "I had fun."

"Sorry Bruce came in and made that mess, I really did clean the place up before you got here."

"It's all right. Though you really do need a bed. I still don't understand how you can sleep on that couch!"

"It's comfortable, and maybe someday I'll get around to getting a bed," Jake muttered. "It did pull out, before."

She made a mental note to get him a bed for his birthday, whenever that was, and saw a black towncar pulling around the street corner. "Well, my ride's just about here. Thanks for having me over."

"You be safe getting home, all right?" His hands, warm and capable, reached for hers in an automatic gesture. Their fingers linked and squeezed. His eyes were brilliantly blue and solemn, his hair glinting in the glow of the streetlights. "I really hope to see you again soon."

There was a gracious farewell statement on the tip of her tongue, ready to be uttered, as the car pulled up to the curb and they walked over still holding hands. Raye pulled the door open and glanced back at him, and at that moment, he smiled down at her, and what happened next was pure impulse.

Leaning up, she cupped his cheek with the hand not clasped in his and pressed her lips to his. One... two... three seconds, and then she pulled away and ducked into the car before he could have a chance to respond. Through the glass, she could make out the shock on his face, and she felt herself blushing even as she waved a hand.

"Evening, miss," the driver cracked his gum and grinned at her through the rearview window. "Where to?"

Raye gave her address by rote and watched Jake through the window as the driver pulled his car into drive. Jake kept his eyes on hers, through the increasing distance and the window, until the car pulled around the corner and he disappeared out of sight.

Her heartbeat had leveled by the time she arrived home, but she could do nothing about the smile on her face.


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: And here's Chapter 7. Slightly shorter chapter, but oh well. Been busy with RL and moving, among other things, is a pain in the a$$.

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

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><p>It was nearing one o'clock when Raye was back in her room and dressed in her sleepwear, and she was nowhere near sleepy. The usual practice, she was well aware, was to call up a girlfriend and stay up half the night talking. Of course, Raye didn't believe in being typical.<p>

It took about ten minutes of blowing up Kevin's phone before he picked up, clearly roused from sleep and irritable. "What?"

"I just got home. I was visiting Jake at his apartment." Raye found herself whispering to him. "I had to talk to somebody."

"What? Who... wait. You JUST got home?" Kevin was waking up; his voice more alert and more incensed with every syllable. There was definitely a note of overprotective big-brother outrage in it at the last word. "WHERE were you? Who is this Jake? Why were you with him until now?"

"Jake! You know, the guy I told you about, whom I met in Central Park and hung out with after meeting him at the club when I was out with Heather..." Raye had mentioned to Kevin, very briefly, about her evening at Club Etoile Rouge. Kevin, being a typically oblivious teenage male, hadn't paid much attention to the details, and likely didn't remember them at all. She recounted them for his sake just in case.

"So, let me get this straight," Kevin said slowly, his voice deceptively quiet. "You called him after you guys went for a walk and had some dinner somewhere, and then he invited you up to his bachelor pad, and you stayed there for HOURS?"

"We didn't do anything!" Raye hissed, before she coughed. "I mean, nothing that you think we did. Though... well, when-I-was-waiting-for-the-car-and-it-was-just-pulling-up-I-sort-of-kissed-him." The last bit was spoken out in a rush.

"Run that by me again?"

She paced the length of her room and slapped a hand to her forehead. For a best friend and one of the two men she trusted implicitly, Kevin could be the most aggravating person on the face of the planet. "I know you heard me. Jerk."

"I was hoping that I heard differently," Kevin grumbled. "Why, just out of curiosity, are you calling me to tell me this? You do realize that if it wasn't a fluke and you keep on talking to him after this, I'm more or less honour-bound, if not required by law, to interrogate him and threaten to beat his ass."

"NO!" She almost snapped the word out before remembering the hour. "No," she said in a quieter tone. "I just kissed him. I'm... it just happened. Then I got into the car and it drove off before he could do anything about it. I just had to tell someone."

"And that someone had to be me. Isn't it like usually supposed to be a girl? Or at least someone capable of, I don't know, giggling and cooing over it?"

"You're my best friend," Raye said simply. This explained everything, and when she heard him take a deep breath, she knew that he was relenting, albeit reluctantly.

"I know, and you're mine. Which means that now I get to worry about you. I'm not a girl, and this is what guys do," he said with no intention of being funny. "So when am I going to meet this Jake?"

"I don't know, when am I going to meet Mina?" she asked innocently.

"She doesn't live here, so... we'll see," Kevin replied. She heard him sigh, and clear his throat, and it was her cue to know that whatever he planned on saying next was in deadly earnest. "In all seriousness, Raye, you're... you're a great girl. You're smart and you're tough and you're generous and you're attractive. I don't know this Jake, and he's probably not good enough for you, but I guess you like him so you don't care. That's fine, but I call dibs on beating his ass if you guys get serious and he fucks up."

It meant more than the abrupt, slightly potty-mouthed words, and Raye smiled and stopped pacing. "I can take care of myself. I'm not going to moon over him or anything." No matter how much her heart had raced when she'd kissed him, she did manage to leave with a casual smile and a wave, after all. There was never any point in letting a guy know he affected you. It was the number one rule.

"That's not the point," Kevin mumbled, and she knew that he was struggling to find the words. "Just... well, let me know if you need anything, all right?"

"I know," she sat down in her bed and stretched out her legs. "I love you too."

"Yeah, same," he said gruffly. "We should both go and get some sleep."

"Sorry for waking you up," Raye told him sincerely. "I just had to talk to someone for a moment. You came to mind."

"'S okay. Night, Raye."

She clicked the phone off and plugged it into the charger, and crawled under the covers. For a long time, she thought about the evening she'd had, and Kevin's words, and her own slightly confusing feelings. When she finally did fall asleep, she was still in the dark over what to do about everything.

* * *

><p>It was Saturday afternoon, perhaps twelve hours or so after she'd finally managed to fall asleep after finishing her middle-of-the-night phone call with Kevin, that Jake called her.<p>

Suddenly and unaccountably nervous, she waited three rings before picking up.

"Hello."

"Hey, I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?" he asked quietly, and maybe it was just imagination and wishful thinking that to her ears, he sounded a little bit less self-assured than usual.

"Oh, no. Not at all. I'm just sitting at home watching some Law and Order rerun on TV," she managed a light tone, but was glad that he couldn't see her tap her fingers nervously on her leg. "So, how are you?"

"All right," he answered automatically, then exhaled a deep breath. "Actually, yesterday, you left so suddenly. I didn't get a chance to... well, to say or do anything."

What nerves had been simmering underneath her nonchalance now rose to the surface, and she was sure that if the phone had had a cord, she'd be twisting it into a tangled mess with her fingers. "Umm, well, I didn't plan on... I guess we should get this out in the open right now. If there's anyone in your life who would be angry that I did that, if she knew, please tell me right now."

He laughed softly at that, and it was absolutely cliched and just a little maddening that the sound of it sent a little tingle up her spine. "No, there's no one who'd be mad if they knew. Similarly, is there anyone whom I might need to worry about ordering a hit on me if I were to ask you out?"

"Probably," she almost giggled. Almost. "Some people in my family are overbearing assholes. But... no. I don't care."

"That's surprising."

"What do you mean by that?" On the television, the episode came to a climax and the police officers burst into the suspect's den of iniquity with guns drawn and eyes blazing. Raye didn't notice any of it.

"Why you don't have guys taking numbers and lining up around the block for the chance to get to know you," he answered candidly. "I can't understand it."

"I don't know," she shrugged, though he couldn't see it. "Most people don't know me that well. And I don't really flirt and such. I told off the first guy who'd asked me out at my high school. He was being a jerk."

"Still... well, you're gorgeous, and interesting, and smart. You're probably used to hearing this sort of thing. I'm not trying to put you on the spot, I promise." Suddenly, he laughed, a brief, somewhat wry chuckle. "I'm trying to ask you out. Just doing it quite poorly. There's a cafe on campus close by where I live where every Wednesday evening starting at eight there's live music and free pastries with your coffee. I know it's a school night, but... if you'd like, I'll be glad to spend some more time with you, and I'll make sure you get home safely and at a decent hour. Really, they've pretty good food there- they have this killer raspberry white chocolate cheesecake, and crepes, and what Bruce calls 'carrot cake with crack'- well, I don't need to ramble on. Anyway, would you like to come?"

For the sake of not appearing too eager, and absolutely nothing else, Raye mentally counted to five and hmmmed. Then, smiling and uncomfortably sure that he could hear it in her voice, she answered him in the affirmative.


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: As promised, the next chapter is here. Fairly fluffy and uneventful. Never fear, I promise, plot and so on will be forthcoming.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>Wednesday found Raye antsy and anticipatory through all of her classes, and she told herself and Kevin that it was due to the fact that it was only a week before the start of Spring Break. Of course, Kevin didn't completely buy that explanation, and with his typical bluntness, asked her if there were any new developments between herself and Jake.<p>

"Nothing particularly important as of yet, worrywart," she told him over flasks and graduated cylinders in AP Chemistry. "We might be hanging out tonight. Visiting a cafe with live music and the like, before you ask, so you know right off the bat that it will be a well-lit public place with no beds or dark corners, so you don't have to worry."

"Hmph," Kevin grunted and meticulously diluted hydrochloric acid. "I didn't ask. I see where your mind's going, though."

"I anticipated you, since I know how YOUR mind works," Raye retorted, her glare magnified by the oversized chemistry lab goggles. "I intend to be home by midnight, before I turn into a pumpkin and whatever, and besides, Jake's not ever tried to pull anything with me. He's seen me a few times now and has had plenty of opportunity, but he's been the perfect gentleman. He didn't even kiss me back the last time I saw him." With this came a sigh so quiet that anyone but Kevin likely would have missed it.

"As I understand, you bolted before he could do anything but stare at you goggle-eyed," Kevin said dryly. "But I'm not sure if I want to continue in this vein. Anyway, as you should know by now, if you need to be bailed out of jail, or someone's ass kicked, or whatever, call me. I'll probably be up til midnight."

Kevin belonged to that strange subspecies of human popularly known as "morning people" and while he lacked the stereotypical obnoxious cheerfulness of the group, it was quite seldom that he stayed up past eleven on a school night. That he'd do so just because she had a date touched her, and she reached across the lab table and patted his rubber-gloved hand with her own.

"I don't think it will be necessary, but I'll keep that in mind," she told him with a rare grin. "I'm going to say this really quietly and really quickly so you don't lose your rep around here, but you're sweet sometimes. When I meet Mina- when is that going to be, by the way?- I'm going to reiterate to her just how lucky she is."

He didn't grin back; she wouldn't have expected him to, but for a second, one corner of his lips quirked up, and in that she read his thanks.

* * *

><p>When she got home from school that day, she zipped through her homework with all possible haste, and rushed through dinner, barely tasting anything, even though Phoebe the housekeeper had made asparagus to go with the meatloaf and as a rule she hated that particular vegetable. She was just putting the finishing touches on her makeup- it was simply a matter of looking presentable, she told herself- when Jake called.<p>

"Hey, are we still on for today?" he asked when she picked up.

"Sure, it should be fun," she answered in a voice that she hoped was cool and gracious. "Would you like me to meet you at your apartment, or at this cafe of yours?"

"Cafe's probably better, since I didn't get time to clean the apartment up today," he said, then sighed, "I still feel a bit bad that you had to deal with my crazy roommate and his gaming marathon last time you were over."

"Don't be sorry for that," she informed him archly, holding the phone in one hand and giving her hair a few final strokes with the brush with the other. "What you SHOULD be sorry for, however, is the fact that you don't have an actual bed."

"It used to pull out, I swear," he protested, but laughed when she laughed. "Well, someday I'll get a bed, I guess. It's just not come up."

"I might get you one for your birthday or something," she quipped. "We shall see. Anyway, what's the address of this cafe of yours?"

* * *

><p>The cafe was called Latte Love and was a quaint little stone building with a neon coffee cup sign in the window. Jake was standing outside when her cab pulled up, and smiled when she got out.<p>

"You look nice," he told her, taking in the perfectly fitted dark jeans and fleecy burgundy-coloured cashmere sweater she wore. Her pumps and purse were both black leather Kate Spade. "I'm going to warn you ahead of time that since there's a bunch of underfed, unwashed college student types in there, you might get ogled. Many of them only see pretty girls in their dreams or on the covers of their Maxim subscriptions."

"I'm sure I'll not encounter anything I can't deal with," Raye said with a faint smile. "So, there's music playing tonight, hmm? What's the group called?"

"Taliesin," he answered, pulling the door open for her. "As I understand it, the lead guitarist, who also writes most of the lyrics, is of Welsh extraction and Taliesin's some sort of figure in their mythology. They've been around for about a year, and they're decent for the garden-variety college band."

"Taliesin's the mythical Bard of Wales," Raye remarked. "All right. Let's go in and see what this is all about."

The cafe was crowded for the day and hour, but Jake was able to find the two of them a table by the window. Inside, it was dimly lit, and its walls were decorated with old movie posters and black-and-white photographs of cities and landmarks from around the world. On a small, slightly raised platform that served as the stage, a five-member band was just finishing up a song with a punky, complex guitar riff. Raye counted a guitarist, a bassist, a drummer, a keyboardist and a lone female singer with streaks of bubblegum pink in her waist-length dark blonde hair. As the song finished, Raye joined everyone else in the room in applauding the group and watched the proceedings with interest as Jake went up to the counter to place their orders.

He returned a few minutes later with a tall black coffee for himself and a vanilla cappuccino for her, as well as a variety of different pastries. The band started up another song, a ballad this time, and over frothy cappuccino and a delectable slice of Italian cream cake, Raye found herself relaxing. The song was wistful, a tune about love lost and found again, the female vocalist's smooth soprano harmonizing nicely with the lead guitarist's slightly grittier baritone. Underneath the table, her legs just barely brushed against Jake's, and if there was any staring and ogling by any of the other occupants of the cafe, she didn't notice it.

The song continued, sad and hopeful all at once, the drummer keeping a soft and steady beat throughout as the keyboardist added flourishes of grace-notes. It was a tale of lovers who met again after being parted by a feud, and for just a moment, Raye felt the oddest sense of deja vu and snuck a glance at Jake. If he felt the same way, it didn't show on his face, but he caught her gaze and met it with a smile.

"Well, the band's well named," Raye murmured after the song finished and the applause died down. "They're talented, and tell a good story." Curious violet eyes met blue ones. "Do you know them? The members of the band, I mean."

"Yeah," he answered, finishing his coffee and cheesecake and chuckling lightly. "The girl's my cousin Carly. When she's not performing in cafes she's studying to be a photographer. She's also dating the lead guitarist, George, who's going for architecture. The others I don't know quite as well, though the bassist is in my biology class and his name is Miles. I'm sure they won't mind if you want to talk to them when they take a break."

Raye nodded and didn't say anything, but when the band took a break, he reached for her hand and led her over. She wasn't sure what to expect, but the girl who was Jake's cousin was brimming with friendliness and talked a mile a minute, asking and answering questions with equal vim. The lead guitarist was calmer, more soft-spoken than she might have expected out of a front man for a band, and she wasn't unaware of the drummer checking out her butt as she and Jake returned to their seats at the conclusion of the band's short intermission.

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><p>At about eleven o'clock, as the crowd was dying down and the band finished performing its last song, Raye called for a taxi to take her back home. Accepting a bubbly invitation from Carly to come see them again sometime, she dropped a twenty into the open guitar case on the stage and walked with Jake outside to wait for the cab.<p>

"I had fun tonight, thanks for inviting me," she said sincerely, the breeze ruffling her hair. "Your cousin is very nice, and has a good voice."

"She's all right," Jake grinned. "She wanted me to ask you what brand your jeans are, or something."

"Oh. Guess."

"Umm, I don't know?"

She laughed at that. "No, I mean, they're Guess brand jeans."

The cab pulled up then, and she took a slightly reluctant step towards the curb, before glancing back at him. "Well, time for me to get on home, hmm? See you later?"

"Definitely." He pulled the door of the cab open for her, and waited for her to seat herself. "I'll call you."

"Yeah, okay," she nodded. "Again, I really had fun."

He nodded, and then, this time around, it was him who leaned in, cupped her chin in his warm, wide-palmed hands, and kissed her lips. Her eyes widened and her hands reflexively clutched at his shoulders, but the contact was long enough that she had time to respond and kiss him back before he pulled away. When he straightened, she could see a trace of her lipstick on his mouth, and it made her smile.

"Good night, Raye," he murmured before shutting her door for her.

She nodded and waved, and once again, watched him through the window until the cab turned the corner and he was out of sight.


	10. Chapter 9

A/N: So so sorry about not updating in ages! I have been busy with moving and also with organizing this year's senshi/shitennou ficathon, and ficcing sort of fell by the wayside. Also, I am aware that the Yankee Stadium doesn't have a Kiss Cam, and that the line-up of players mentioned in this and next chapter are not quite current. I wrote this part of the fic a long time ago, actually, and it was accurate then. As for the Kiss Cam, it's basically for cuteness and fluff, so work with me here :P I think I'm entitled one or two bits of non-accuracy and poetic license for the amount of researching I do at all other times, right?

Thanks to those who have reviewed this fic, and I promise the next update won't take so long!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>When Kevin called her a week afterwards, she could tell that something wonderful had happened just from the way he said hello.<p>

"You sound excited," Raye told him matter-of-factly. "You already got accepted to your college of choice, so I know it can't be that." That he was moving out of New York City, that he'd be hours rather than minutes away, was a fact that she'd face when the day came. Had it not been for the fact that Kevin HAD come back from Georgia last summer finally at peace and able to smile again, she would probably have scoffed at the idea of him moving out-of-state for the sake of a girl. Then she paused, as a sudden thought occurred to her. "Wait, whatever you're about to tell me, it has to do with Mina, right?"

"How did you guess?" Kevin's voice sounded almost calm, and most people might not have noticed the difference, but she could tell that he was elated. "She's here, Raye! Her family came up with Emmaline for Spring Break. She dropped in on us today like it was the easiest thing in the world." He let out a single, short chuckle, and for someone like Kevin, it spoke volumes. "She looks great."

"I'll just bet," Raye laughed indulgently. "Well, when will I get to meet her? No getting out of it this time around, buddy. Since she's now in New York and not Georgia. I promise to be nice."

"Umm," Kevin cleared his throat, as though it didn't occur to him that he wouldn't be alone with Mina for any of their time together the upcoming week. "I know that her family's going to see the sights over the next two or three days, so my dad and I will likely be playing tour guide. But maybe by Tuesday or Wednesday? I don't know, I'll ask her. And hey, does that mean that I'll get to meet this Jake of yours instead of you blowing that off whenever I mention it?"

She had known that would be coming. "I'll ask him," she mimicked his words. "Even though as a rule I don't do double-dates, I might make an exception for this."

"Well, I mean, it doesn't have to be something stuffy or whatever," Kevin said, and she could almost hear the shrug in his voice. "I mean, it's not like we have to make a huge event out of this."

"All right, that shoots my idea for a really long and snobby dinner at the Four Seasons down," Raye said dryly. "Relax, Kevin. I wasn't going to go there, anyway. I was thinking more along the lines of a Yankees game and maybe dinner somewhere close afterwards. You said that she likes baseball. And I have season tickets."

Had it been anyone but Kevin, the next words might have been something along the lines of "Oooh ooooh that'd be perfect!". As it was Kevin, he simply said "Hmm, yeah, that'd work."

"I know, I'm wonderful, you don't have to tell me," Raye drawled. "They play Thursday against the Orioles, who will get creamed, but hey, no big deal about that, and the game should be fun anyway."

"Okay, I'll ask Mina, you ask that Jake of yours."

"Dork. You could just call him Jake, you know." But Raye's tone was affectionate. "I'll ask him if he's interested in watching the game, and if not, maybe dinner. I'll be nice, so you have to be, too, okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. That doesn't negate my right to beat his ass if he hurts you."

"Oh, you big strong man, whatever would I do without the likes of you to protect poor, helpless little maidens such as myself?"

"Shut up, Raye. Bye." He clicked off, and she chuckled for a few minutes before rolling her eyes and dialing Jake's number.

* * *

><p>Raye was prompt the day of the baseball game, arriving at Kevin's home a good half-hour before they were due to leave, and she heard the sound of chiming feminine laughter as soon as Kevin's dad had opened the door. John Ellis, whose eyes still showed grief over his wife's death in a way that her own father's never had, smiled at her as he stepped back to let her in.<p>

"Ready to watch the Orioles get trounced, Raye?" Mr. Ellis asked in his serious way. "I'll just tell Kevin and Mina that you're here."

"Oh, no hurries, Mr. Ellis," Raye said smoothly as she made her way towards the living room and took a seat on the couch. The photographs of Kevin's mother were back on the mantel, taken out again after those who loved and grieved for her the most could cope with seeing her face in remembrance instead of reality. "I'm sure he'll be down by-and-by."

The sound of laughter came again, closer now, followed by words spoken in a sweet voice that invoked images of sultry summer nights and tall, cool glasses of iced tea and girls in bonnets and hoop skirts. "Oh, you don't need to lie, Kevin. I know I look completely like a tourist visiting the big city for the first time." Then came the sound of footsteps, Kevin's steady tread, and lighter, quicker ones following.

Raye's first impression of the girl who had become an integral part of her best friend's life was one of light. Mina Atherton wore an "I LOVE NYC" t-shirt over her jeans and candy-pink polish on her bare toenails. Her hair, long and straight and a natural corn-silk blonde that many of Raye's female acquaintances would've paid hundreds of dollars for a colourist to duplicate, flowed down almost to her waist from underneath a Yankees cap, the brim pulled up to reveal a classically beautiful face that was lit up with warmth and laughter and unadulterated by cosmetics. Mina didn't notice her at first, because the blonde girl's gaze was focused on Kevin, and that was probably the best first impression she could have made on Raye.

"Hey, you're here," Kevin saw her first and nodded his head. The only sign of his slight nervousness was the slight bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed before making introductions. "Right. Mina, this is Raye Harcourt. Raye, this is Mina Atherton."

"Oh gosh, it's so nice to meet you," Dimples winked in Mina's cheeks and she held out a slim hand with nails painted the same candy-pink as her toes, though the polish was slightly chipped. "Kevin mentioned that you were his best friend, but he's said almost nothing about you!"

Raye smiled wryly at that and shook the proffered hand. "Kevin doesn't like to talk about a lot of things," she remarked. "He smiles when he talks about you, though, and that tells me a lot. So how do you like New York thus far?"

"It's very exciting!" Mina's Southern drawl had the word sounding like "ex-ahy-ten", but it was sweet rather than irksome. "Junior- or that is to say, my little brother- had the best time climbing up the Statue of Liberty yesterday. And then y'all have so many museums and nice restaurants, and everyone's so busy all the time. I must've taken a hundred pictures already. And oh gosh, I'm rambling." Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and guileless blue eyes met slightly amused violet ones. "I hope you don't think this is out of place, but I've not really met any of Kevin's friends before. He didn't tell me you were so pretty, and don't take that the wrong way."

With someone else, there might have been a veiled question in that statement, a barb of faint malice and insecurity. But there was nothing but sincere admiration and curiosity in Mina's face, and Raye smiled. "I'll take that as a compliment, and you're not out of place, don't worry. So... first Yankees game?"

"Oh, yes! That's going to be a lot of fun!" Enthusiasm broke over Mina's features like a burst of sunlight. "So, do y'all really have people proposing on the electronic scoreboard there?"

In the face of the girl's small-town charm and unshakable sweetness, Raye had no choice but to laugh and warm up to her. In the way of females, they were deep in conversation and left Kevin to his own devices the entire way to the game.

* * *

><p>Raye sent Jake a quick text as they approached the stadium, and even as their group approached the ticket counter, she saw him walking over, a baseball cap covering his hair in as a concession to the event. Grinning, she waved and waited for him to get there.<p>

"Good to see you," she greeted him, her eyes shining as she turned from him to Kevin and Mina, the first saturnine and the latter smiling warmly. "Guys, this is Jake Burnley. Jake, this idiot is my best friend Kevin Ellis, and his girlfriend Mina Atherton, visiting from Georgia."

"It's sure nice to meet you!" Mina chirped, holding her hand out for a shake even as Kevin continued his silent appraisal. "Raye said that you live really close by here. Do you get to watch many games?"

"I watch my share," Jake met her beaming smile with a faint one of his own. "The Yankees were once called the Bronx Bombers, after all." He met Kevin's gaze levelly, sizing up the other's intentions and feelings quickly and instinctively. "Raye's mentioned you a few times, says that you're someone she trusts implicitly. That's a high compliment, coming from her."

Kevin shrugged faintly, but that Jake would know that much about Raye's psyche was a point in his favour. "So, our seats are field level, down the first base line. I guess she can show you where they are, since Mina and I might be looking around here a bit before we sit down."

"That's fine by me. And since you guys were so kind as to invite me, I'll spring for concessions," Jake said evenly. "What would everyone like?"

"Probably just hot dogs and sodas," Raye answered, shooting Kevin a glare for his less-than-polite demeanor. But it was Mina who jumped in, legendary southern graciousness lighting her eyes and colouring her voice.

"Oh, that'd be so nice of y'all," she said even while turning that incomparable smile towards her boyfriend. "I just don't know why everyone says that folks up north in big cities are cold and uncaring bunch. So far all y'all have been nothing but nice to me."

After a few minutes, the two couples separated and Kevin left with Mina to give the latter a tour of the stadium before the game was to start. Raye smiled apologetically at Jake as they made their way towards the seats. "Sorry about Kevin. He's a pain in the ass."

"It's within his right to do so, so I understand," Jake told her quietly. "He's just watching out for you. And..." He took in her appearance, a baseball cap and Derek Jeter jersey somehow emphasizing her femininity rather than otherwise. "And you look great. It's bound to raise his hackles at the thought of me checking you out."

Raye shrugged and made a little face. "Yes, well, guys check me out now and then at school. He doesn't act like a jerk because of that."

"You don't talk to those guys, though," Jake pointed out before reaching over and giving her hand a squeeze. "I don't mind your friend's protectiveness towards you. And his girlfriend's nice. She'll really have the time of her life watching the Orioles get creamed, hmm?"

Raye agreed, and the two of them sat together contentedly as they waited for their friends to return and the game to start.

Several hours and two innings later, the Yankees were up two runs and Mina was practically vibrating with excitement, and her infectious cheer had pervaded so that even Kevin was starting to unbend a bit. She pointed out with a laugh that the jumbo-tron now showed various pictures of couples kissing, framed in hearts, and then trailed off for a moment, peering at it closely.

"Wait a moment, it's on us," Raye murmured, seeing her own face and Jake's magnified for the entire stadium to see. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Kevin freeze, his expression one of horror, and a cattish smile crossed her lips as a mischievous thought entered her mind.

Turning her face and raising a hand to cup Jake's cheek, she leaned in slowly, keeping her eyes on his and watching his gaze fix on her and warm as his hands moved to lift the cap from her hair before resting on her shoulders. Their lips met gently, perfectly, and in the back of her consciousness she could hear the crowd cheering. She felt a hint of nerves; this development was still new, and she was putting him on the spot, but then she felt his fingers sliding through her hair and shivered at the caress and deepened the kiss.

The cheers grew louder.

She didn't notice.

It was finally the necessity for breath that had her pulling away, and to steady herself as much as anything else, she kept her hands on Jake's face, her eyes wide as they gazed into his. "Sorry," she whispered. "You might be able to find us on youtube in a few hours for that."

"If that's the case, there will just be a few million viewers who consider me a lucky bastard." Jake returned with equal gravity.

"They kept the camera on y'all the whole time," Mina piped in, and Raye turned to see Kevin staring at them, a frozen statue of horror, and that gave her the presence of mind to smirk.

"What? I'm kissing a guy I'm seeing. Is that a problem?"

The next inning started before Kevin could reply.


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: Sort of a short chapter, and what was said in the last chapter applies: I'm well aware that Johnny Damon no longer plays for the Yankees, but he did when I wrote this scene aaaaaaaaaages ago :P Deal with it.

Also, finally finally, we'll be getting at plot type stuff starting with chapter next! Thanks for reading, those who have been doing so, and I appreciate those who review.

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine.

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><p>The foul tip came flying right towards them at the bottom of the sixth inning with Johnny Damon batting and the Yankees up by three, and Raye, who was busy laughing at something that Jake had said, would likely have required emergency plastic surgery had Mina not had such quick reflexes. The blonde girl caught the baseball about a foot in front of Raye's nose, and after comprehension hit her brain, let out an excited squeal as some other girl might have done upon meeting the cast of <em>Twilight<em>. Raye, for her part, jumped back, but Mina practically bounced in her seat, prize clutched in one hand and blue eyes all but glowing.

"Oh my God! I can't believe it! I caught a ball at my first Yankees game!" A few polite claps sounded around them, and Mina blushed and grinned. "I'll have to show Zach when I get back to Georgia, but he'll probably be hateful about it, since he's a Red Sox fan."

Laughter greeted this statement, and Mina held her new baseball like a prized trophy. "So, do y'all think I could get this autographed later?"

"We'll go down there and give it our best shot after the game," Raye told her with a smile. "Good catch, by the way. Thanks for not letting that thing break my nose."

"Oh, you're welcome," Mina laughed. "I would think that you'd still be a bit distracted from that kiss earlier- aww, Kevin, don't scowl about it. It's tradition, isn't it?"

* * *

><p>The end of the game found two pretty girls making their way towards the dugout. Raye, not afflicted with Mina's bubbly enthusiasm or glowing eyes, made note of the fact that several ball players visibly sucked in their stomachs as they approached, and decided amusedly to let her best friend's girlfriend to do the majority of the talking.<p>

"Hey y'all!" Mina waved the hand not holding the ball in greeting, wearing a smile the likes of which was typically depicted on stained glass windows. "That was a GREAT game!"

Raye bit down a chuckle as a few of them wandered over, heroic approachable athlete faces on. "Hello there," CC Sabathia greeted the two of them warmly, all but visibly shading his eyes from the blinding radiance that was Mina's enthusiasm. "What's your name?"

"I'm Mina, and I'm really so excited to be here today!" She tossed the ball up and down, catching it adeptly without taking her eyes off the much-bigger baseball player. "It's my first time in New York, see, and I'm a huge fan, and I've never been to a game before now. Oh, the kids will be so excited when they hear that I got to have an actual conversation with real baseball players! I coach a Little League team in my town, you see. In Georgia."

By then, the vast majority of the team had wandered over, the combined allure of Raye and Mina too hard to resist, and several good-natured chuckles greeted Mina's little ramble. The blonde blushed, and held out the prized baseball souvenir. "Oh, I caught this earlier! I was wondering if all y'all could sign it?"

A chorus of yes's greeted Mina's question, and it was no more or less than Raye expected, and a few of them engaged the pretty baseball aficionado in a play-by-play analysis of the game as the ball was passed around. Before the ball was even passed back to Mina, she'd gotten quite a few admiring looks, several anecdotes of pre-major-league baseball exploits that not even gossip magazines knew about, and an invitation from one of the newer members of the roster to visit them during spring training in Florida. Raye, glancing at the stands, could all but feel the force of Kevin's scowl as he kept his eyes pinned on them, and could practically hear his dark and dire thoughts about the ways and minds of baseball players around charming southern girls. Taking pity on her friend and deeming it appropriate to put a stop to things before they got TOO far, she cleared her throat as the baseball was passed back to Mina, and gave the ball players an indulgent sort of smile.

"Well, Mina, we should probably be getting back. It'll be a nice story to share around the high school once you get home from Spring Break, hmm?" She shot the rookie that had invited Mina to spring training a faintly amused, apologetic smile. "Thanks for your time, guys."

"Bye y'all!" Mina waved again, and Raye could sense more than one pair of eyes watching them walk away. She laughed and hooked her arm through Mina's.

"You got hit on so many times just now, how're you feeling?"

"Oh, they were just being nice," Mina protested. "And it's flattering, I guess, if you think they were hitting on me, but I have Kevin, so it doesn't really matter, you know? Really, I didn't think we'd be able to get it signed just like that. Security didn't try to stop us at all!"

"Too busy checking out our legs, which are pretty damn awesome, to be sure," Raye said regally. "Now, let me go up and help you handle your boyfriend before he starts sulking over the fact that pro baseball players just spent fifteen minutes hitting on the love of his life."

The phrase was spoken lightly, but the rosy glow that suffused Mina's face, the softness that entered her eyes, sealed the deal. At that moment, just for that, Raye decided once and for all that the two of them would be fast friends.

The rest of Mina's visit to New York passed without too much incident, and Raye made a point to spend a day with the other girl, shopping at Barney's and Bergdorf Goodman, getting to know more about each other in the process. It turned out that Mina knew Amy Anderson, whom Raye had met last Spring Break, also on a visit to New York from Georgia, and both girls laughed at how small the world was.

It was easy to befriend Mina, to approve of Kevin's choice, and when it was time for Mina to go back home, they promised to keep in touch. When she got a call a few weeks detailing the reactions of a Little League team over a signed baseball versus the reaction of a particularly vociferous Sox fan of Irish extraction, it brought a smile to her face for the rest of the day.

And it would turn out that such moments of laughter would be sorely needed and missed that summer ahead. And it all started the day of her high school graduation.


	12. Chapter 11

A/N: As promised, the drama begins!

Disclaimer: You know, the usual.

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><p>The parade across a stage, as far as Raye was concerned, wasn't really that important. She wore a cap and gown with a gold cord to signify that she was on the honour roll, shook hands with the principal and the superintendent, and received her diploma, right after Kevin and right before Brandon Hearn. She was just taking her seat back in the audience next to Kevin when she noticed her friend glancing into the back section of the auditorium where the family members were sitting, with a frown on his face. She knew that her father was there; there was bound to be talk if Senator Harcourt did not take time out to attend his only daughter's high school graduation. The senator was sitting next to her grandfather, but she had thus far managed not to look at him at all, and wondered what it was that Kevin kept looking at.<p>

"Yeah, he's here, you know he had to be here," she hissed, giving Kevin a light jab in the side. "He's probably pretending to be Gramps' best friend too, the flaming hypocrite. What are you staring at? I told you that he'd be here."

"I know," Kevin said slowly. "I figured as much. But there's another guy there, I've never seen him before. Blond, kind of preppy-looking, mid-twenties, I think. He's staring at you."

"I don't know of anyone who has any reason to stare at me aside from the usual," Raye scoffed. "Maybe he's with some other group."

"No, he's definitely staring at you. And he just turned to say something to your father. They seem to know each other," Kevin murmured. "Seriously, you need to take a look. I think his tie probably costs more than a lot of people earn in a week."

Raye took one quick, fleeting glance, and then felt as though every nerve in her body was shutting down and shrinking away in defense. With a concerted effort, she raised her chin, her face completely expressionless and cold, and clenched her hands into fists over her diploma. She had not seen _him_ in years, and it did not sit well with her that he'd be here now. How dare he come?

She felt a warm, wide-palmed hand over her wrist, and in her peripheral vision, she saw Kevin looking at her with a mix of curiosity and concern. "What? Who is it?"

"No one," Raye said between clenched teeth. "No one important. Less than important. Don't look at him again."

"Then why is he staring at you? What's his name?" Kevin persisted.

"Kaidou." Raye spat the word out as though it were venomous, and for the rest of the ceremony, until Melinda Zimmerman went on-stage to receive her diploma, she sat still and cold as an ice statue, eyes fixed straight ahead as demons that she thought were long buried deep within resurfaced.

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><p>To prolong the inevitable, Raye made a point to talk to as many of her fellow high school graduates after the ceremony as possible, flitting from one acquaintance to another and rehashing meaningless, trivial experiences. That her father and Kaidou had a reason for making this special appearance she had no doubt, but she wasn't interested in the reason, and would have preferred not seeing them at all.<p>

Raye was in the middle of a half-hearted snark-fest about one of the teachers when the aristocratic, unmistakable sound of her father clearing his throat came nearby, and she all but felt his shadow fall on her back, which straightened in defensive response. Senator Harcourt, a tall, dignified man with perfectly styled salt-and-pepper hair and a hearty smile that didn't usually reach his eyes, clapped a heavy hand on her shoulder, and she had to steel herself not to shrug it off.

"Dad," she greeted him curtly, holding her diploma like a shield in front of her chest as her classmate discreetly backed away. She would have ignored the younger man next to her father altogether, except for the fact that, as always, Richard Kaidou IV finagled her attention towards him.

"Rachael," he greeted her, using a name that she'd heard so rarely in the last three years that she almost didn't recognize it as her own. The usual charming politician's-protege smile graced his handsome, polished features and he held out both hands. "Congratulations. You have grown up to be quite the fine young woman."

"Thanks," Raye said flatly, not making any movements to take his hands, keeping her gaze fixed at a point somewhere in between both men's shoulders. "Also, I prefer to go by 'Raye'."

"Raye, then," Kaidou, whom she'd always called by his surname because it was how her father addressed his staff and when she met him as an impressionable girl of eight, she didn't know better, smiled warmly. "It's been a while since I've seen you. I do think you've grown an inch or two."

That he could be so crass as to bring THAT up, and so blase as to refer to their last meeting as though he were discussing the weather, sent Raye's fingers clenching around her diploma. With two deep breaths, she forced herself to shrug. "I suppose it's possible." Violet eyes skipped across faces in the crowded auditorium in search of her grandfather, or Kevin, or anyone, really, but no one was close enough. "What brings you here?"

"That's a very rude question to ask," Raye's father told her reprovingly. "You and Kaidou have always been such close friends, it seemed only fair that I invite him to your graduation. Besides..." And here, Senator Harcourt's face showed an approximation of a satisfied smile. "I believe he wanted to tell you his good news himself."

As far as Raye was concerned, there was no possible good news that she would have wanted to hear from this particular individual, unless it involved Kaidou giving up all his worldly belongings, shaving his head and moving to Tibet to live as a Buddhist monk. Lips thinned, she turned her face a quarter of an inch towards Kaidou and silently waited for the axe to fall.

"Well, it's really simple," Kaidou smiled, and reached out to touch her shoulder, his fingers warm and smooth and pampered. "Marguerite and I getting married in the middle of this summer, and we'd like for you to be one of the bridesmaids. Maid of honour, actually."

Raye's diploma slipped out of nerveless fingers and fell to the ground as she stared at him in shock. With a little tut, he stooped and picked it up, then dusted it off with a flourish and handed it back to her. "It's not going to be a gaudy, elaborate ceremony, don't you worry. Maybe you heard of the engagement, saw a notice in the newspaper."

"I don't read the society pages," Raye said in a clipped voice. "And I'm going to be busy this summer. I'll be starting at Columbia in the fall and don't have time to play wedding dress-up."

"It won't be any trouble, and really, when Marguerite talked to the Lifestyle reporter for the Journal, she already gave out your name as the maid of honour. She's really dying to meet you," Kaidou told her patiently and smoothly, and Raye bit back a curse. There was too much bad blood, too many thorny issues, and he acted as though they were old, fond acquaintances, no more and no less. That, more than anything else, brought on a rage of old hurt and new anger.

"Didn't you think to consult me before signing me up publicly for this wedding?" she asked scathingly, uncaring which man interpreted the question as directed towards him.

"Really, it'll only be a few hours of your time," Kaidou said in the indulgent tone of voice often used to humour a child. "The wedding's on July 20th."

She wished desperately that there weren't people around who'd be concerned if she suddenly started screaming.

* * *

><p>It was not her.<p>

The pallid, dark-haired girl in a cap and gown, whose summer was being dictated and coerced like a pawn in a chess game, was not her. The silent individual struggling futilely against the will of the two men who had broken her heart years ago was not her. It couldn't be her, because if it was happening to someone else, then she didn't have to care about it. And if she didn't care about it, it couldn't hurt her. The name mentioned in the society column article entitled "Rising Young Politician Richard Kaidou IV To Marry Wall Street Heiress Marguerite Emerson-Hale" was not hers. She hadn't gone by "Rachael", after all, in several years. It was not her, and this was not happening.

Except it was.

"So, we're all settled then," Raye's father phrased it as a statement rather than a question, and turned his unsmiling eyes and curved mouth upon her face. "Kaidou will make arrangements to pick you up for rehearsals, photo shoots, press interviews and the like. I daresay that your schedule in the summertime- in particular living in THAT neighbourhood with your grandfather- will be far more flexible than his. I expect that you will not disappoint me, and make a good impression upon the others you will come in contact with. Rachael- _Rachael!_ Are you listening to me?"

There was a hand upon her back, and by the comforting smell of pine aftershave and tweed jackets, she knew it was her grandfather's, and she almost closed her eyes in relief. But because showing any weakness would just cause her father to demand an explanation that he'd pay no mind to and drag the surreal situation out even longer, she took a deep breath and looked up blankly at the Senator's face. It was smooth- no laugh lines or worry wrinkles as other fathers had- and polished, and handsome, and practically a stranger's. "Yes, I heard you," she said at length. "We need to head back. Just... do whatever. I don't care."

She turned sharply, trying her best to ignore the disapproving frown burning into the back of her neck and pretend that her last statement was true.


	13. Chapter 12

A/N: Here's chapter next! Enjoy, hopefully!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>She focused, to the best of her ability, on Frank Sinatra's crooning voice on the entire drive home, but it did nothing to calm her down. The jovial subject matter of the songs was at odds with her mood, and she wished for a moment that she had one of Kevin's crappy emo-band rock CDs of boys who yelled and pretended to play guitar to blast so that she could maybe take refuge in anger, which was easier to deal with than the alternative. When her grandfather finally pulled his car into the drive, she stalked out, raven hair falling down from the French twist that she'd had it in and curtaining around her face, and made a beeline for her room, giving a terse nod to the housekeeper's congratulatory greeting. Tomorrow she could apologize for her rudeness, but for now, she didn't want questions or, worse, anyone's knowing, terrible sympathy.<p>

It took a moment for her to realize that cell phone, which she'd left at home during the graduation ceremony, was ringing on her desk.

It was Jake, who was calling, undoubtedly, to congratulate her, and it would be rude not to pick up. Plus, it would be a distraction, and he was easy to talk to, so after two rings, she clicked the phone on.

"Hi." It came out a bit harsher and more clipped than she'd intended, and she winced.

Unsurprisingly, he picked up on it, but he didn't sound mad when he replied. "Just got home from the ceremony, I take it? Congratulations are in order, I know, but more importantly, what's wrong?"

"Oh, just..." She took a deep breath, and exhaled raggedly. "Saw some annoying people. That's all."

"Hmm?"

She sat down heavily in her desk chair, but only for a moment, before jumping back up to pace around the room. "My father was there, with his minion," she said crossly. "I wasn't completely surprised that my father would be there, but the minion..."

It was quite probable that he found her term for Kaidou irreverent, but he didn't say so. "Yes?"

"I used to talk to him a bit, but that was ages ago, and now he's getting married in like two months and expects me to be one of the bridesmaids," Raye snapped, deciding that focusing on the small surface irritants was better than the alternative, and perhaps if she just vented a little about the unfairness of the situation, she would calm down enough that she could put it all out of her mind. "Two months! And they decide to spring it on me TODAY, without so much as a 'by your leave', and without considering that I might have absolutely no interest in dressing in some horrible ugly scratchy dress and smiling for cameras like I'm friends with some girl who's getting married whom I've never even met! What type of crap is that?"

There were muffled sounds of shuffling in the background, but she was too immersed in her rant to notice. "And they had the gall to go to the press and already TELL them I'm going to be in the damned wedding, and there's no way I can back out of it without creating a huge, messy scandal, and... ugh, all my father had to say was that he hoped I behaved myself during the ceremony, and press releases, and photo shoots, and God only knows what other screechingly boring events this wedding's going to entail. And to think I used to think that his minion was- was all right. GOD, what is it about politics, anyway? Why does it turn everyone into a soulless demon? And... ugh! They're probably going to serve caviar at the reception. I HATE caviar."

She rambled on furiously, pacing the room like a caged tiger, for another few minutes before recalling herself. "Oh God. You called to congratulate me. Not to hear this shit. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he replied quietly. "Don't apologize for anything you feel, ever. It's okay to have emotions, both positive and negative ones. It makes you human." There came the sound of a whistle, and it was sharp enough that she blinked.

"What was that?"

"Oh, sorry," Jake said seriously. "I didn't mean to startle you. That was me whistling for a cab."

"Oh, I'm holding you up from something, aren't I?" Raye asked hurriedly, fumbling for dignified and sophisticated apologies. "I'll let you go. Thanks for calling, and listening to me rant." She was just about to hang up when she heard him call her name through the slam of the cab door. "Er, yes?"

"You're not holding me up," he declared, his voice completely in earnest. "I'm going up to see you." He pulled the phone slightly away from his mouth then, and she heard his voice, slightly muffled, giving the cabbie her address. She gaped.

"You're... but it's like a long way."

"Yeah, and you've a lot to be upset about," he said patiently. "Keep going. Let it all out. I don't mind listening to it while I'm on my way there."

"But... why?" she whispered, clutching the phone against her cheek, a strange feeling that was half elation and half pain filling her chest.

"Because you're upset, and there's only so much a person can do over the phone as opposed to in person," he explained as though this were the simplest, most ordinary thing in the world. "But for now, until I get there, feel free to keep talking."

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><p>Jake paused for a moment at the door of the Brooklyn row house to collect his thoughts before reaching up to ring the doorbell. It was not at all like him to impulsively cab it out to some girl's house just because she was upset over being dragooned into some social event. That there was something deeper and more significant than the inconvenience of the situation and the lack of consideration shown by her father and the soon-to-be bridegroom went without saying, but even that didn't warrant a trip from his apartment all the way out to her house.<p>

She had hung up the phone about ten minutes ago, the initial fire of anger faded to something softer and more weary, and now here he was, wondering just how to explain himself in case it wasn't her that opened the door when he rung the bell. But the door swung open at that exact moment, and he found himself face-to-face with a diminutive old man in house slippers, the unknotted ends of a tie dangling over his shirt. "Well, well, boy, you've been standing on my porch for about five minutes. Were you planning on knocking, or just taking in the air?"

"I was planning on knocking," Jake smiled weakly. "You must be Raye's grandfather."

"Hmph. And you must be that friend of hers that she visits at all hours," the professor surveyed him through bushy white brows. "Do you have a name, then? I'm Christopher Warrington, so you don't go around calling me 'Raye's grandfather' or some nonsense."

"Jake Burnley, and it's nice to meet you, Mr. Warrington," Jake held out a hand, which was grasped by a wizened but surprisingly steely grip. "Is she... where is she? She was upset." He took a deep breath and scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "I came to see her because when I called her earlier, she was upset. It's okay if you don't believe me."

Shrewd dark eyes locked with blue ones, and Jake felt for a moment like a moth on a pin, but he had nothing to hide, and met the old man's gaze squarely. After a few seconds, Raye's grandfather stepped back, resting his thumbs in his pockets. "She's upstairs, in her room, first door on the right. You can go see her, I guess. But if you young ones decide to get up to something, remember that I have very good hearing." With that, the old man stepped away to let Jake into the house, and instead of taking the time to look around, he went straight towards the staircase.

* * *

><p>The door of Raye's room was open just a crack, but he knocked anyway, and pushed it open only after he heard a soft, muffled "Come in".<p>

"Hey," he greeted her quietly, surveying her as he stood by the door. She was wearing black trousers and a tailored blouse, though the cap and gown that she'd had on earlier lay on top of her bed, thrown haphazardly along with her diploma, and the effect of it was jarring in an otherwise neat and carefully decorated room. Raye sat on the bed, back against her pillows, arms hugging her knees, and tried to give him a smile when he came in.

"I really feel like I'm inconveniencing you here," she murmured as she meticulously adjusted one corner of a pillow. "You didn't have to come all the way here to listen to me whine about stupid weddings."

"I know I didn't, but I'm here, on a hunch," he told her, wondering if what he was going to say next was stepping out of bounds. "Certainly you have a right to be annoyed for someone putting you in their wedding party without consulting you first. But that's not something that would really faze you, or upset you as much as it seemed to have done. Which leads me to believe that there's something else going on."

She stared at him and slowly got up from the bed to stand by her desk. "Well..."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said slowly, stepping forward even as she did. He reached out and took her hand in his, noting the manicured, buffed nails, the pearl buttons on a blouse that was undoubtedly silk and nearly as soft as her skin. The room, now that he took the time to glance around, was furnished with antiques, with Belgian lace and Irish linen, and the painting that hung on the wall was likely not a print. It was a room he had no business to be in, a world that wasn't his. But hanging on a hook by the dresser, next to the eye-catching red designer trench coat she'd worn the day they went to Central Park, was his own battered leather jacket, which he'd given her the first night they met at the club. That one thing gave him the courage to continue. "You can tell me to go. I won't be mad. But I want to know what upset you."

She took a deep breath, gave his slightly callused, roughened hand a squeeze with her pale and smooth one, and nodded. "Okay. Take a seat."


	14. Chapter 13

A/N: Raye's story. It's not a very happy one, I'm afraid.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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><p>Raye waited for him to sit down at her desk chair before seating herself back on her bed, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them as she closed her eyes. "My mother died of leukemia when I was fifteen, and that's when I moved here," she started slowly.<p>

"Yes, I know," Jake said gently. "You mentioned it before."

"I couldn't live with my father, not any more, not after he didn't even come to see her in the hospice. Too busy campaigning, too busy with his career. She was going to die anyway, so what did it matter?" Raye picked at the cuff of one pant-leg, her voice toneless and flat. "I was there every weekend, with my grandfather. She kept looking for him, up to the last, and he never came. Never, not after all those years of marriage."

It wasn't something that Jake could imagine, a father and husband making a choice like that, but he could only nod as she continued, still in that same flat tone, still with her knees drawn over her chest.

"After... afterwards, the first week I moved here, Kaidou visited." She laughed, bitterly and briefly. "Kaidou's my father's assistant, an aspiring politician in his own right. He'd always been friendly to me, and I called him by his surname because my father always did, and... he used to tell me everything, let me tell him everything, listen to the stupid rambles and daydreams of a little girl like he cared. I thought he cared. And when he visited, I was happy to see him."

"Kaidou's the one getting married, isn't he?" Jake asked softly, leaning forward in his chair. The dark head resting on her knees gave one short nod.

"He's very polished, very sophisticated. Cornell Law, fourth-generation scion of political and business leaders, nice hands, perfectly tailored suits and shirts. He was on the cover of GQ once," Raye mumbled, still staring down at the white, lace-trimmed counterpane. "I was fifteen and thought I was in love with him. He was just so perfect, you know? Twenty-four and already well on his way to success and always so nice to me. I drew his name in hearts, all that shit that stupid girls naively do at that age. And I was so excited to see him- there just to visit me, by himself as opposed to with my father- and then he sat me down, and told me very gently and politely that he thought I should move back to Greenwich. My pricey, upper-crust Catholic school was more prestigious than some mere public school, after all. And it looked bad for my father, me moving out like that. For my FATHER." She spat the last word out, the anger barely covering the old, lingering hurt, and when she finally looked up, her eyes were bleak.

"Oh, he was very gentle about it, very sympathetic. He just thought that since we were such good friends, he should point out to me something that I might not have considered, might not have noticed. And then..." She laughed again, even more cynically than before, running a hand through the inky mane of hair that pooled around her. "I told him that HE was the one who might not be noticing things, all things considered. And because I was young and impulsive and stupid back then, I marched right up to him and kissed him. It was the first time I'd kissed anyone, but I kissed the hell out of him, because at the time, I really thought that I loved him, and that maybe he should know. And that if he knew, since he was always so nice to me, he'd understand why I did what I did."

And now the guy was getting married, and Jake scooted the chair he was sitting in until it was right by her bed. "And then?"

"And he kissed me back," Raye said tersely. "Gently and kindly, but he did kiss me back. And then he pulled away with a reproachful expression and shook his head and told me that I shouldn't be doing that, that he had a girlfriend whom he'd been dating for three months now. Marguerite. And I was shocked, because he'd never mentioned her and we used to talk about EVERYTHING. And when I asked him why he'd never said anything about a girlfriend before, all he could do was to shrug and say, oh-so-mildly, that he didn't think it would matter, that it didn't have anything to do with me. That's when I ran up here. I was in the living room, and I ran up here."

Her voice wasn't so flat or faraway any more, and he reached over and took her hands in his as it hitched. She finally uncurled her knees, and took a deep, ragged breath. "I went ahead and did something stupid, that teenage girls do sometimes. There was this boy, the cousin of the girl you saw me with at Etoile Rouge. He was sixteen, kind of dumb, and I knew he had a crush on me." The fingers he held in his shook, clenched. "I nonchalantly stopped in the guest room where he was sleeping the weekend after Kaidou visited, closed the door, and climbed into his bed. And I fucked him." She closed her eyes on the last sentence, and when she opened them again, tears were swimming in their crystalline violet depths. "I lost my virginity at age fifteen like a typical stupid teenage girl fucking a guy I couldn't care less about to prove something to myself because I thought I had to. And it meant _nothing_. I got over it, I got over him and Kaidou and that whole mess, and moved on with my life. But now, I have to play nice at Kaidou's wedding like we're still friends or something, and I can't get out of it, and I _hate _it."

She felt the telltale sting in her eyes, the blur in her vision, and had he not been holding her hands, she would have viciously swiped the tears away. "I got over him, but all this today just... it brings back a time when I was young and foolish." Her words were muffled all of a sudden as he tugged her up, not so gently, and pulled her close. It was so long since the last time she'd been hugged that she stiffened, but when she felt a hand touch her hair, guide her head down onto a strong, solid shoulder, the dam broke loose.

* * *

><p>An indeterminate number of minutes later, she wiped futilely at the wet spot she left on his shirt. "Ugh. I'm sorry. You've a mascara stain right here."<p>

"Don't apologize," he murmured, taking her hand again as she tried to wipe at it with the flat of her palm. "Least of all not for a stupid shirt."

"I don't cry a lot, really," she mumbled, reaching for a tissue and meticulously wiping her eyes and cheeks dry. "I didn't mean to do it all over you."

"That's why I came," Jake said gently. "Honestly, I think you were overdue."

In his calm, deliberate way, he guided her down the stairs into the kitchen, which was empty now. Competently, he rooted out peanut butter and jelly, slices of sandwich bread, and made her a sandwich as he heated a mug of milk in the microwave. Placing the food in front of her, he gave her a lopsided smile.

"It's what my mom always fed my brother and I when we didn't feel well. Works like a charm, though it's better with crunchy peanut butter."

Tired now and docile, she ate and drank, and to her surprise, did feel a bit better. "Thanks," she said after one last swallow of milk. "I'm pretty horrible company today. Did you want anything?"

"Don't worry about me. Really." He placed the dishes in the sink and pulled her up from her chair. "Now, you should get some rest."

He led her back to her room and tucked her in, and fiddled with the radio until he found the classical music station, and then turned the lights down low so that the only illumination came from the radio display and the moon shining through the window. "Go to sleep, Raye. And for what it's worth, if you want a date to that wedding reception, I'm game if you are. I can probably find a suit somewhere in the bottom of the closet at my folks' place."

One hand slipped out over the covers and grasped his. "You'll be the only one there who isn't in designer duds, and you'll look great," she said softly. "Really, thanks for coming."

"Anytime," he told her, and as she closed her eyes and her breathing gradually evened out, he kept a hold on her hand and was shocked to realize that he meant it completely.

* * *

><p>Raye's grandfather was waiting downstairs in the kitchen, fiddling with a bonsai juniper plant, when Jake left Raye's room. The old man set down the clippers he held and looked up levelly at Jake. "Heading off now?"<p>

"Yeah," Jake answered equably. "She's gone to bed."

"Oh, I know," Professor Warrington gave what was best described as a smirk as he patted the dirt around the roots of the miniature tree in a pot. "My study's down the hall from hers. I saw the light go out a few minutes ago."

"Right," Jake scratched the back of his neck. "Well, I guess I should get going."

"Probably so, as it's late," the old man mused thoughtfully, walking with Jake to the door. The professor surveyed Jake cannily for a moment as he held the door open. "Oh, and next time you're here, wash the dishes if you use them." He grinned and gently shut the door.

It was as much encouragement as one might expect. He wasn't barred from coming over again, based on the implications.

He mulled on those implications and the conversation with Raye, the way she'd cried and tried so hard not to, the whole ride home, and hated this Kaidou without even knowing him, and that was just another first.

"Hey, where've you been?" Bruce greeted him when he finally arrived back at his apartment. "You've been gone a while."

Jake levelled his roommate a long look, then found the words, and though he had never spoken them before, they came easier than he thought they would.

"I was with my girlfriend."


	15. Chapter 14

A/N: Here's the next chapter of ER, in which we meet Kaidou's bride to be, among other things. Thank you to those who have read and reviewed, I hope that you are all enjoying this fic thus far!

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

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><p>"Oh, I'm so envious," Marguerite Emerson-Hale, a slim honey-blonde in a snazzy powder-blue Chanel suit, picked at her salad and shot a pouty, envious look at the linguine with gorgonzola cream on Raye's plate. "I've been off carbs for about a year now. I swear on everything that's holy, I have dreams about pasta. And pizza. And mashed potatoes. <em>Dreams!<em>"

Raye raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like you need to be off carbs." Kaidou's bride-to-be was petite, dainty and feminine and blonde, with a glossy shell-pink manicure and a china-doll sort of prettiness. The daughter of a fabulously wealthy Wall Street executive and a much-younger French actress, she was only three years older than Raye, and had the sort of infantile naivete characteristic of someone who had lived a life so sheltered that it was practically a sterile bubble. Earlier, at the arranged meeting time at the restaurant, Marguerite had arrived in a chauffeured cotton-candy-pink Rolls Royce, which, as she had explained, had been a present to her from her Daddy on her twentieth birthday. That she had never driven it herself anywhere outside her familial estate's grounds did not seem to matter to her, and when Raye had asked, Marguerite had explained that she wouldn't personally want to deal with New York's scary, unfriendly traffic anyway.

It had been Marguerite who had contacted Raye and invited her to a trendy new Italian fusion bistro for lunch, in order to meet each other. Over the phone, the bride-to-be had sounded friendly and very chipper, punctuating her words with giggles, and Raye had been prepared to dislike her on sight. But now, on the third course of a five-course meal (all three courses of which in Marguerite's case were salads of some sort), Raye found that she really couldn't hate the girl. It was clear by now that Kaidou's bride-to-be was harmless, affable and well-intentioned, with a typical array of ladylike qualities including but not limited to hostess duties, home decor and the ability and willingness to support her adored husband-to-be in everything he did. Hating her would be like hating the pink candy hearts stamped with the meaningless cutesy messages that were sold every year around Valentine's Day.

Now Marguerite beamed at Raye over the rim of her water glass. "You're so sweet. I can see why Richie's so fond of you. Oh, I really do hope that we will become good friends! I'm so nervous about getting married- he is SO important, and there are SO many people invited- so making friends with you, since I already know the other bridesmaids, would go a long way for me."

"I'm not going to cause you any trouble, I promise," Raye said blandly. "I'm not particularly fond of scenes."

"That's good," Marguerite said with an audible sigh of relief. "My friend Whitney- that's Whitney Rochester, of Rochester Shipping- just got married to Adam J. Pennington of Bryce, Pennington and Taylor, and some people in her wedding party were just awfully opinionated! I suppose that's somewhat to be expected, seeing as to how Adam's a lawyer and his friends were other lawyers, but still you would think that they would know to behave better in regards to their friend's Big Day! Why, they had an awful row over the amount of time to allot after the ceremony for answering questions from the press. I really don't think that a half-hour interview differs all that much from a twenty-five minute interview, you know?"

"I try to avoid interviews altogether," Raye said dryly. "But I suppose you'll have to deal with a lot of press coverage and publicity, marrying Kaidou."

Marguerite giggled again and nibbled on a tiny forkful of arugula leaves. "Oh, but being married to Richie will make up for it. He's SO sweet, and smart, and gentlemanly. He always knows what to do in any given situation. So many boys I've known are clueless, silly creatures. And he says the loveliest things sometimes! Just the other day, he told me that I was a treasure, and that he'd be the envy of all his peers having a wife like me. Isn't that just the sweetest thing you've ever heard?"

There was a glow in the bride-to-be's eyes and a flush of rose in her cheeks, and Raye, for a moment, pitied her. Marguerite really fancied herself in love with Kaidou, as much as she could comprehend the idea of love, and truly, probably foolishly, felt that he returned her feelings. She wondered for a moment if her own mother, in her own engagement days, had thought and felt the same way about her father. Victoria Warrington had married Brent Louis Harcourt out of idealistic, girlish love- and had been selected by her husband for her wealth, breeding and beauty. Raye's mother had been the perfect political wife, the flawless hostess, the beautiful society dame. It was quite possible that in Kaidou's eyes, Marguerite also fit those requirements, and not much else.

Smiling a bit awkwardly, Raye pushed a tiny portion of her pasta onto a saucer and slid it across the table towards the harmless, flighty but good-natured bride-to-be. "Here. Try some of this pasta. It's great."

"Ohh... but my diet! I have a GORGEOUS wedding dress to fit into!"

"Live a little. Just the once. You might never get to do it again, right?" Raye quipped. "Two forkfuls of pasta equals a mere five minutes extra of pilates. Everyone knows that."

Marguerite gave her another of her guileless little-girl smiles, and ate the linguine with an expression of bliss on her face. "You're a heroine. I KNOW we'll be friends."

Raye made a noncommittal noise and tried not to sink into melancholy thoughts.

* * *

><p>If Marguerite Emerson-Hale was not completely as detestable as Raye had feared, everyone else involved in the wedding process was.<p>

The wedding planner was a thin, angular woman who spoke with a faux French accent that grated like nails on chalkboard and had perfectly low-lighted cornsilk blonde hair that Raye's discerning eye recognized as the handiwork of some expensive salon's colourist. She wore a veritable alphabet of designer labels from head to toe: Raye spotted CC, D&G, LV, DKNY, and a Hermes scarf which she had an annoying habit of adjusting every time anyone made a suggestion which went against her ideas. Raye was sure that Yvette Lebrun was the hottest and most sought-after wedding planner since that sappy JLo movie, because she knew Kaidou enough to know that he wouldn't have accepted less than what he perceived as best, but she was equally certain that Yvette Lebrun wasn't even the woman's real name.

The other bridesmaids, all Marguerite's friends, were a cliquey, giggly bunch of overprivileged socialites whose idea of a good time didn't extend much past getting manicures and shopping. Raye, who had a reasonable fondness for both activities herself, was still baffled that ANYONE could use the words "Bergdorf Goodman" quite so many times in a single conversation. They all had names like Alys, and Kathryn, and Belynda, since it was a long-standing rule that names with the letter Y were automatically more fashionable and wealthy-looking than their normally spelled counterparts. They only drank bottled water, convinced that taps were dirty, and to a one, counted calories and carbs with a sort of number-crunching frenzy that Raye had only encountered previously in accountants at tax time.

But by far the worst of it, outside of the groom, was Marguerite's brother Chadwick, who was one of the groomsmen, the son of the fabulously wealthy Wall Street exec with his first wife. Chadwick "call me Chad, sweets" was twenty-four, fancied himself a musician when he wasn't busy immersing himself in all Manhattan's fashionable night life had to offer or jet-setting to trendy places around the globe, and lived solely on his trust fund. He habitually wore too much cologne, grew his hair longish to fit the musician persona and managed to look instead like Shaggy from Scooby Doo, and developed a very quick, fast interest in Raye. He would simply not be put off, followed her around, and took her coldness and her blunt claim that she was already seeing someone as playing hard-to-get. Worst of all, the romance-minded Marguerite thought it was adorable that her brother was interested in her new friend, and often basely abandoned her in Chad's presence with the hope that something might happen.

It was after about four and a half hours of putting up with all of it that Raye, citing a raging headache that was only half a lie, fled the scene and found herself walking down the same shopping district where she had gone with Kevin to buy Mina's birthday present all those months ago. Kevin had finished paying off that necklace, and Arthur MacFelis had exhorted a reasonable amount of labour out of him for the exchange. It had been quite a while since she had been in that antique shop, but she found herself stepping in.

"I was always wondering if you'd stop by sometime, without your friend." Lorna MacFelis, looking serene and ageless as always in a slim black pantsuit and a cheerful yellow blouse. She smiled at Raye in welcome from where she was carefully wiping down a display case of small, intricate snuffboxes. "I was just about to have a cup of tea. Would you like to join me?"

Raye nodded in assent, and Lorna led the way to a walnut dining table with a Waterford crystal vase filled with Stargazer lilies in the center. A silver tea service rested nearby on a cart, and Lorna poured two cups of English Breakfast. "Your friend said, the last time that he was here, that he'd be moving in a few months to Georgia," the antique dealer remarked in her smooth, cultured voice. "He's to go to college there, hmm?"

"Yeah," Raye blew on her tea before taking a sip. "He's pretty happy about it. Can't say that I blame him, really. He has some ties there, not just his girlfriend."

"And it's the ties in life that are important. You'll miss him, but you'll keep in touch, and both of you will find your own way," Lorna said with a smile as she stirred cream into her tea. "I do miss being young sometimes, you know. It's exciting, even though it's a bit frightening, not knowing exactly what's going to happen and finding your way. Life's a journey and not a destination, after all."

"Well, I'm not really going anywhere," Raye smiled wryly. "I'm going to college right here in New York. And I am fairly sure I'll be staying here after that, too."

"And you'll have experiences both good and bad in the meantime," Lorna remarked slowly. "It's a very exciting city. Resilient. Arthur and I settled here for that reason." She held her teacup with a pinky out, the gesture unconscious and unstudied and somehow eminently British, and it made Raye smile. "So where will you be going to school?"

"Columbia," Raye answered. "My grandfather teaches there, though I'm NOT going into law school."

"Fair enough," Lorna smiled. "I'm sure you know your own mind well enough."

Raye nodded, and she really had not expected to find herself discussing her plans and her goals with a virtual stranger of an antique dealer with a British accent and an enigmatic smile. But it comforted her somehow, and Lorna's mannerisms and ways of speaking were more real than any of the mincing gestures and foppish Frenchisms dropped by the wedding party earlier. When she finished her tea, she stood and looked around the shop, intending to purchase something or another in gratitude for Lorna's time.

And then she saw it, resting in the corner, sleekly varnished and fabulously carved, covered in snowy white linens that gleamed in the shop's dim light. The rosewood four-poster looked like Sleeping Beauty meets the Antebellum South, and her lips curved upwards in a wide grin as she imagined it in Jake's little room in his apartment. "Nice bed right there."

"Yes, it dates back to Colonial times," Lorna told her. "We acquired it in an estate sale two weeks ago, actually. Are you looking to buy a bed? We have complimentary next-day delivery."

"I am, as a matter of fact. Not for me, though. Would you mind terribly if I made a quick phone call?"

"Not at all. Go right ahead."

Raye found herself laughing as she walked towards the bed and ran one hand down one intricately carved bedpost. She dialed Jake's number, and he picked up on the first ring.

"I have a random question," she said without preamble.

"All right."

"When's your birthday?"

His laugh vibrated lowly against her ear through the phone. "It was in January, actually. The twenty-fifth. Why?"

"Oh, nothing," Raye grinned as she plopped down on the bed. Her butt sank into the ocean of bed linens and her feet didn't touch the ground. "Would you like a late birthday present?"


End file.
